


Comfort   DreamNotFound

by SonaBuvelle534



Category: dreamnotfound - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 03:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 47,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29993133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonaBuvelle534/pseuds/SonaBuvelle534
Summary: __________A story of GeorgeNotFound coming to terms with his feelings for his best friend and battling with his issues.703k chapter reads on Wattpad
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	1. New Apartment

**Author's Note:**

> This was crossposted (although a year later) from my Wattpad - SonaBuvelle534. Enjoy!

George sat in his empty room. Being in the process of moving into a new apartment, he hadn't had the time to furnish the place with anything except the essentials, let alone decorate it. His barebones room currently only had his gaming setup and a king sized bed pushed against the wall across the room.

He was about to get up to fix himself a breakfast when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the notification and couldn't help but smile.

_________

Dream 💚

georgieeeeeee :(  
u awake yet? im bored

_________

There was no way to explain the delight he always felt after receiving a text from Dream. He just chalked it up to being glad that his friends wanted to talk to him. Strangely enough, others rarely had the same effect on George. 

He looked at the time showing at the top of the screen. 7AM. The sky from his window looked gray and cloudy. Small raindrops slowly started to make their way onto George's window and down. It was quite depressing, actually. Even though he liked the rain, the weather sure wasn't giving him a warm welcome into his new apartment.

_________

Dream 💚

georgieee >:( answer me  
oh right ur probably asleep 

_________

George should have been sleeping. But every time he felt himself drift off, he was jolted back up to alertness. He'd never admit it to anyone since he thought it was childish, but nightmares had been plaguing his rest for a while now. Deciding not to leave his best friend hanging for much longer, he shot him a quick text (or four) and stood up.

__________

George

What are YOU doing up?  
It's 2 am for you  
Stayed up editing again huh  
Get some sleep old man

__________

The floor had been freezing cold. The new apartment didn't have heating installed yet and walking barefoot on cold wood and tiles didn't help George's case.

He opened the fridge to find something to cook with, but it was as empty as the rest of his apartment, so he just settled on ordering something instead.

__________

Dream 💚

2am isnt that late 

__________

George stared at the screen as Dream continued to type for a long time. The bubbles at the bottom of the screen would pop up, then die down again. Whatever Dream wanted to say, he was hesitating a lot.

__________

Dream 💚

besides i kinda missed u :/

__________

George felt himself blush. _Just gratitude for a friend caring,_ he thought. He didn't know how to reply, though. Maybe Dream wasn't being serious and if George gave a sincere reply it'd make things weird.

__________

George

Haha gay

__________

He immediately realized what a stupid reply that was. Dream was probably being serious. They had barely talked because of how busy George had been during the moving process. He saw Dream typing again, but no reply came. Feeling a little guilty, he ordered some food and went back to his room to watch a movie while he waited for it to arrive.

He found himself glancing at his phone every time it buzzed, hoping it was Dream asking him to record, call, anything. Just as he thought that he'd upset him, a text popped up on his screen.

__________

Dream 💚

wanna record?   
i took a nap  
much better now

George

Yeh sure call me on discord

___________

He was secretly relieved that Dream hadn't texted him because he had been asleep rather than upset. As soon as he got a call from Dream and they started recording, all his stress seemed to wash away. 

It had been like that ever since he met dream - he found himself looking forward to their next encounter. It wasn't something he even admitted to himself, but between family issues, everyday problems and being unable to sleep, Dream was his escape. He felt somewhat guilty for viewing his best friend as a distraction, but he was sure that in some way he was the same to Dream. 

The session was filled with their usual banter and flirtatious jokes he always blushed at. Another thing he didn't want to admit was that as an otherwise shy person, he really, _really_ liked being the center of his best friend's attention. Almost to a point where he'd do and say outrageous things just to get Dream to react.

They finished the recording and started casually talking. Just small talk about everything - how George was adjusting to his new life away from his parents' house, how Dream found a new recipe and totally fell in love with it... Everyday things. Despite that, George listened to every word spoken by his best friend throughout the whole thing. It was only when he hung up the call that he realized his jaws were aching like crazy from smiling the whole time.

George got up and turned off his PC to heat up some of the leftovers from before. He started to aimlessly wander around the empty space while he waited for his food to be done. He'd thought his own place was all he wanted. Back at his parents' house, he always dreamed of a nice apartment in the city, out of the suburbs he grew up in. And even if the apartment was in decent shape and more than enough for one person to live in, he wasn't satisfied. 

The former full gray sky had been replaced by a warm evening illuminated by the soft streetlights. He saw people walking on the streets - happy families, groups of friends and couples hand in hand. 

That was when he realized how lonely he felt. How desperately he wanted someone to be there with him, to take care of him. They'd cook together, take walks in the evenings, hug... Oh, what he wouldn't give in that moment to have someone by his side who truly understood him, comforted him through the night, cherished him... and truly, unconditionally loved him. For who he was - a flawed human. And he'd love them back.

The microwave beeping teared him from his train of thought. He didn't really feel hungry anymore.

Trying to shake this new suffocating feeling of dread and loneliness away, he turned and entered his room again.

Another night came. Another night of restlessness and terror. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, hoping to fall asleep and finally catch a well-deserved rest. But to no avail.


	2. Food For Thought

George woke up to another rainy day. Well, he didn't really sleep at all. He had never had any trouble sleeping as a child - he was usually out like a light as soon as his head hit the pillow. But these days, he'd be lucky if he even managed to get a wink of sleep.

It was something he refused to acknowledge was serious. _So what if I have nightmares for a few days, end of the world_ , he thought. Soon those days turned to weeks, which turned to months and the restlessness slowly but surely started taking its toll on him.

Just another normal morning for him. He was laying down, face up staring at his ceiling, drenched in sweat. He had just been jolted awake from one of his nightly terrors. The pure, unfiltered fear he felt in his sleep was nothing like he had experienced before and he wondered what caused his torment. 

He covered his face with his forearms and groaned. The soft rain against the glass of his bedroom window was doing very little to calm him. In fact, it was pulling on the last string that threatened to make him go insane. An outsider would be completely oblivious to how noisy the room felt in George's head. His aching body screamed and pleaded for rest and the world swirled all around him menacingly, forcing him to stay bound to his bed.

As much as he didn't want to leave the only source of soft comfort - his bed, he was risking losing his mind with every passing second he spent in the room. The gray, dull walls reminded him of the color palette of the cloudy sky that was making him go insane.

Eager to escape, he got up far too quickly. He instantly regretted the decision. His vision started spinning, blacking in and out. He doubled over, leaning on the wall with one hand and slowly lowering himself to the ground as he wondered what was happening to him.

That's right. He had only had a single, terribly unhealthy meal and hardly any water the last day. Not to mention the incredibly unbalanced diet he was feeding himself. Instant cup noodles, chips, crackers and pizza were quickly becoming his only food choices during the whole moving ordeal. It didn't help that he only knew how to cook the most basic things either, and even if he tried to make himself a healthy meal, he'd terribly fail and revert back to ordering fast food. 

However, learning the hard way that he couldn't survive on that alone, he opted for going downstairs and eating at a local diner instead. At least it'd be healthier than whatever he had been eating before.

He slowly stood up and looked around his room for some clothes. Since he hadn't gotten around to getting a wardrobe yet, they were just strewn around all over the room. Not really caring about how he looked, he threw on a sweatshirt and jeans and went to the bathroom to freshen up.

By the time he got himself to look presentable enough to go outside, it was only lightly drizzling. He was halfway down the stairs when he tried to look at the time on his phone out of habit only to discover he had left it upstairs. While he was contemplating whether to retrieve his phone or keep going to get some food, an amazing smell hit his nose. It was sweet - _pancakes, probably,_ George thought. 

Forgetting all about his phone, he exited the apartment building and stepped outside for the first time in days.

He was instantly greeted by a crowded street - something he wasn't used to in the suburbs. Back there, everyone knew each other. You couldn't escape if you wanted to. But here... George found himself easily blending into the bustling crowd. It was a new feeling. Exhilarating.

Though George wasn't exactly sure why he was so excited about everyone being too absorbed into their own thoughts to notice him. It was a weird sense of escapism.

He turned the corner and came across a quaint-looking diner. It seemed to be the source of the scent wafting through the air all around it. In other circumstances, he'd feel awkward to be eating out alone, but he felt way too hungry to care about that at that point and time.

After he sat down and ordered whatever food the scent was coming from, he reached for his phone again to pass the time while waiting, but he found an empty pocket instead. _Great going, George. Couldn't you wait one more minute?_

Absentmindedly, he started tapping his fingers against the shiny table. From his seat at the window he could see the side alley between the diner and the building next to it. With nothing else to do, his thoughts started drifting towards the people he knew. Strangely enough, he didn't really miss the people back home. They never really held a special place in his heart quite like a special somebody. It was strange to think about - your family and relatives you've known for your whole life taking up less of your thoughts than a guy whose face you haven't even seen, let alone met in real life. 

He imagined what it'd be like if Clay was sitting in the empty seat across from him right now... Or next to him. He'd probably hold George's arm and ask about his day and comfort him and tell him soothing words-  
George realized that was a weird thing to think about, let alone realistic. 

Even if Clay somehow phased through the fabric of reality, teleported over 4000 miles and plopped into the seat George was looking at, they were just friends. Friends didn't really act that way.  
But that's all George wanted him to be - a friend. A friend that held him and helped him sleep at night and maybe occasionally gave him kisses... Uh oh.

George covered his face in embarrassment as if the people around him had heard his thoughts. He was most definitely blushing, too. If anyone was watching him, they'd think he was a lunatic.

He convinced himself it was just platonic. That's how he usually thinks about friends, right? Plus, he couldn't help but be curious about how his _best friend_ looked. Would he have pretty eyes? Would he have strong arms that he'd wrap around George? Would he be bigger than him, so George could wear his oversized clothes in the mornings while they cooked together? Clay _had_ mentioned he was a good cook... Would he cook for him occasionally?

He thought about how he'd hold George in his arms and tell him how much he meant to him and slowly lean in-

George forced himself to stop thinking about him that way. Even if they ended up meeting in real life, if he continued to think like this, he might've been disappointed with how Clay would actually treat him - like a friend. Because that's what they were - _just_ friends. 

A cup of steaming coffee was placed in front of him, followed by a stack of golden brown pancakes. He was in awe at how appetizing the food looked as he poured syrup all over it.

Quickly after he dug in, he forgot all about his previous thoughts. Surely, it was nothing. He was thinking nonsense because he was hungry and not in a good state, right?


	3. Shameless Fantasy

George slumped into his gaming chair as soon as he arrived home. Fed and satisfied, he was feeling a little better. Remembering his phone, he got up to plop down onto his bed instead and rolled into his stomach to grab his it to check his socials, only to find it dead.

Groaning, he plugged the phone in and sat down at his computer desk again to scroll through Twitter there.

There was a sudden noise as soon as he booted up his PC, followed by all his lights and electronics shutting off. A power outage.

He cursed under his breath. He didn't have anything to do at home anymore, so he just went back downstairs. The street was a little emptier since rush hour had ended and there were fewer cars driving on the roads. 

George decided now was the perfect time to explore the areas around his new apartment. He started wandering around aimlessly, checking the glass displays of shops he knew he'd never go into, looking at tall buildings and little family owned restaurants. There was a park nearby, too. It looked serene and empty compared to the rest of the bustling city, so he decided to check it out. 

That's when he saw an awfully familiar face turning the corner. He could spot it from a mile away. It was his ex from a long term relationship, Stephen, who he hadn't seen in nearly a year. Upon seeing George, Stephen's face lit up and he rushed over to pull him into a tight embrace. They exchanged quick greetings and caught up, all the while Stephen stood uncomfortably near George, invading his private space, but not enough for him to speak up about it. 

"So, George..." Stephen said, still clutching George's arm from the embrace, "What have you been up to? Found anyone... Special?"

Something was off about his expression and the way Stephen's eyes bore into his skull. It made George's gut twist and turn, but he didn't really have any friends in the new city, so if he at least had someone to hang out with, he sure as hell wasn't going to let that chance go.

"Uhh... Well, no, not really," George replied, ever so gently tugging his arm way, hoping Stephen would get the hint to let go. "What about you?"

"Oh well... You know. The same old stuff," Stephen shrugged and looked past George at a fancy apartment building, "We can go to my place and talk about things that have happened, if you want."

George, not having anything better to do, agreed. Besides, it's not like the break up had ended on bad terms, so it wouldn't feel awkward. He followed his ex into the lavish lobby, up the stairs and into an equally fancy apartment. 

After a quick tour, Stephen signalled him to settle into the couch and ducked into the kitchen. George took this time to look around the place. Little trinkets, each probably worth his monthly income, decorated glass shelves and ornate cabinets. The TV was ridiculously big, and the paintings on the walls were vibrant but soulless. 

Upon the sound of approaching footsteps, he turned to see Stephen approaching with a bottle of alcoholic beverage of some kind and two glasses.

"Cheers to the reunion!" He sat down as well, pouring himself and George a glass each.

"Cheers man," George politely smiled and took his drink, deciding when would be an acceptable time to down it in one go.

Stephen turned on the TV, said an unoriginal toast and refilled their glasses. The drink was sweet and thick like syrup as it went down George's throat. The taste was unfamiliar but pleasant. _Probably some rich people beverage,_ George assumed.

After a few drinks, the effects st arted to kick in. The talking from the TV blurred together and turned into an incomprehensible blabber. George could feel his face heating up and feeling a little drowsy. Judging from how red Stephen was, he was in the same shoes.

Suddenly, Stephen wrapped his arm around George's shoulders. And surprisingly, he liked it. Or maybe he liked the closeness of another person after so many months gone without intimacy. Nevertheless, he felt touch-starved. Plus, this was pretty innocent and enjoyable. 

He imagined what it'd be like if he was sitting huddled up against Clay instead of Stephen. Maybe he would enjoy himself more if he just mentally replaced the man he was currently sitting next to with the image of his best friend. George snuggled closer to him, leaning his head against the man's chest.

He imagined Clay pulling him closer into his lap as Stephen did the same. He imagined Clay staring into his eyes as intensely as the man below him was right now. He also imagined Clay cupping his cheek and kissing him softly, and he thought of how he'd melt into his touch, caressing his face and gripping the hair on the back of his head.

He didn't really know the face he had to replace Stephen's with, but that wasn't a problem when his eyes were closed anyway. The blind touch was much more open to interpretation as the person below him felt him up and down, caressing his body.

The kisses "Clay" peppered all along his jaw, down his neck and collarbone made him gasp loudly. The man gave him a final small kiss and they helped each other out of their shirts. The touch he felt on his naked torso was much more amplified now. The hands running all over him were intense and he yearned for more. 

He wondered if Clay had rougher hands that would firmly grip him or softer ones that would gently caress and comfort him.

The idea of his best friend touching him all over, his fingers digging into George's sides, roughly, urgently, in a way that made him feel needed, drove him crazy. He squirmed impatiently, anticipating what would come next.

  
In his daydream, it was Clay that groaned and flipped them upside down, and it was Clay that ran his hands up and down George's body, towering over him. It was also Clay's name he moaned out to ask him to do more.

"Ugh, Clay..." He felt Clay- No, Stephen, come to an abrupt stop. 

Fuck.

He didn't want to open his eyes to make eye contact with the man in front of him. Fuck fuck fuck. He fucked up.

"Clay?.." Stephen finally let out, breaking the deafening silence.

  
Guilt flooded into George, washing all over his body. His face was flushed red from the embarrassment.

"George..." Stephen let himself off George, standing up straight, "Who's Clay?"

George groaned, pulling his hands up to his face. Being drunk wouldn't make explaining the already outrageous situation easier. How would he even go about that? _Hey yeah, I'm sorry I led you on, the only reason I made out with you and let you touch me was because I imagined my best friend I'm hopelessly falling for was in your place._

Slowly, he pulled his fingers down from his eyes to find that Stephen was still standing in front of the couch, shirtless. 

"Listen, Stephen..." George mumbled out and groaned, "I'm sorry, okay? I was just..."

Stephen stared at him dead in the eyes. George squirmed under the scrutiny and struggled to come up with an excuse.

"George." Stephen started, "You probably realized I still had feelings for you when we... started doing this... Thing, right?"

"Yeah." George quietly replied after a long pause, looking down rather than at the man. "I'm sorry, I'll just go."

Stephen didn't stop him as he leaned down to pick up his sweatshirt and slid it on. He just stared silently. George wouldn't know what to do if he was in his shoes either. 

With a soft click, he opened the unlocked door and stepped outside. Another click as he closed it behind him and got out of there as quickly as he could without breaking into a sprint. 


	4. Talking

Needless to say, George felt extremely embarrassed. And kind of disappointed, too. He finally got the chance to get rid of his "loneliness problem" and he blew it. On what? A fantasy involving his best friend of all people. Not to mention, a fantasy that would never come true. 

He ducked into an alley and leaned against one of the walls to stay out of sight. He wasn't really sure what he was hiding from - it's not like Stephen would come after him after that "fantasizing about someone else" thing he pulled, but he couldn't stand to face people right now.

Taking a deep breath, he recollected himself. He felt the effects of the fancy alcoholic beverage slowly wearing off. _It's all gonna be fine,_ he thought. _Apart from Stephen's feelings_. God, he felt like an ass. But there was nothing he could do right now. He had enough pride not to go back up to the apartment and beg for his ex's forgiveness.

Instead, he headed for his own. He felt like being in a private space. The whole "exploring the city" thing had gone terribly wrong.

Thankfully, the power had been turned back on in his apartment building. He threw himself onto the bed and buried his face in the pillows. It was gonna take a lot of time to recover from the awkwardness he experienced that day. At least no one else would know about it except for them two.

He rolled into his side and picked up the phone that was now fully charged. There was no major news - just a few new posts from his friends and fan tweets. 

Well, there was also one more thing he really didn't want to face - a text from no other than Clay. He could read most of it from his notification bar without opening the app and letting the sender know he'd seen it.  
The first message was from the morning.

__________

Dream 💚

georgieeeee help  
im coding a plugin

__________

Then, after a few hours, he had sent another one.  
  


__________

Dream 💚

george where u at?  
it shows my messages a-

__________

Then again, an hour ago:

__________

Dream 💚

geeeeeeeorge answer m-  
where are youuuu? slee-

__________

George would have probably been smiling at the needy messages if he wasn't so damn embarrassed. There wasn't any reason for it, since Clay didn't really know about his day, but he couldn't help feeling... guilty for some reason. 

In the end, he decided to open the messages.

__________

Dream 💚

georgieeeee help  
im coding a plugin

Dream 💚

george where u at?  
it shows my messages arent being delivered :/ rip georgie

Dream 💚

geeeeeeeorge answer me you loser  
where are youuuu? sleeping at 4?

__________

George decided telling the partial truth would be for the best. He'd leave out the part where he fantasized about him, of course.

__________

George

Hey Dream, missed me so soon? ;*  
I ran into an ex and spent some time at his place  
Still need help with the plugin?

__________

He hoped the reply was believable enough not to cause suspicion but not so vague that Clay would ask him questions. The typing bubbles instantly popped up at the bottom of the screen.

__________

Clay had been sitting at his computer for hours, editing a video. All the blinds were shut, leaving the room to be illuminated only by the cold white light coming from a lamp hanging from the ceiling. He was about to get up to take a snack break when his phone dinged. The only person who he didn't have muted was George, so he instantly picked up the phone and sent a text.

__________

Clay

GEORGE  
finally >:(

__________

He had been worried since George never left for more than a few hours at a time without saying anything. Even while moving, he always texted what he was up to and why he couldn't talk. Clay still missed him, but it was better than nothing.

He started to type out a message saying he was worried, but he stopped. He had been so excited to get a message from George, he'd forgotten to actually read what he said.

_________

georgie 💕

Hey Dream, missed me so soon? ;*  
I ran into an ex and spent some time at his place  
Still need help with the plugin?

_________

He stared at the messages for a long time. George was right, even if only joking. Clay hated to admit how attached he was getting to his best friend. 

Also... he ran into an ex and spent some time at _his_ place. It was funny how for all the time he knew George, he never found out he was into guys.

Wait... He ran into an ex and _spent some time at his place_... Clay knew what that meant. And he also knew that George was his best friend, so why did thinking about his Georgie with another guy make him feel so weird? Clay didn't even like guys to chalk the feeling up to jealousy.

He decided to call George instead of talking to him through text. It was strange to admit, but he really wanted to hear his voice.

_________

All George could think during the call was Clay's voice - how it would sound next to him in bed when he was groggy from having recently woken up, how it would sound whispering the things he wanted to do to him, or humming a rhymeless tune while cooking.

Luckily for him, Clay wasn't too big on showing his face, so they weren't talking on videochat. Even if George was extremely curious what his best friend and the man he was so madly yearning for looked like. However, that meant Clay couldn't see his blush when he was imagining random scenarios with them in love - everything from innocent hand holding to the stuff of his wildest fantasies.

The fact that George wasn't visible didn't stop Clay from realizing something was off about him, though. He was oddly spaced out and giving short answers, letting the other talk. George tried to convince him that he was just tired, but to no avail.

"Tired from what, paying a little visit to your ex?" George could practically see the smirk on Clay's face as he spoke.

"Yes, for your information," he decided what the best way of going about discussing the day was. Finally, he decided to just cut the conversation short before he blurted something out that he'd regret, "I'm gonna sleep now, Dream..."

George thought that if he referred to his friend with a nickname rather than his name, his feelings wouldn't flare up too much. Using actual names was... too intimate. It's why he squirmed when Clay made flirtatious jokes while addressing George with his real name.

"Sleeping at 4:30 PM?" Dream chuckled, "Jeez, you really _ar e_ tired. Goodnight Georgie."

Even after he got changed and laid down in bed, he found himself repeating that phrase again and again in his head. 

"Goodnight Georgie."

Something about it was so sweet and pure. He imagined Clay holding him to his chest in best, running his fingers through George's hair and telling him goodnight like that. 

A head swirling with thoughts of Clay, he hugged a pillow tight and slowly drifted off. He hadn't had sleep that good for ages.


	5. Escapism

Everyone has a method and a reason for escapism - for some, it may be reading to escape the hustle and bustle of everyday life. For others, it may be making out with random guys in night clubs you met five minutes ago to hopelessly try and forget the ever growing crush on your best friend.

For George, it was the latter. Having been a shy and reserved kid for the most of his life, he felt quite uncomfortable the first night he stepped into a crowded nightclub with neon lights and generic music blasting loud enough to rupture an eardrum. However, all his insecurities seemed to melt away after one, two, three drinks. 

He spent most of his nights touching and being touched by other strangers, being backed up against a wall in a grimy alley and being sloppily kissed. There had been offers for going further - a lot of guys that he thought would be similar to Clay's appearance had offered George to take him home. He was always afraid, though. Sure, drinks made him shameless in all other ways, but he was never ready to just get up and go to bed with a complete stranger. No matter how much he wanted to. Even if there was a chance it might've helped him forget about his best friend.

Ever since he started indulging in his new "hobby", he had been online less and less. Sure, he had some pre-recorded videos he posted after he got home, but his online presence was severely lacking. Not only that, but he had forced himself to completely refrain from talking to Clay.

His inbox was flooded with messages from concerned friends, but he couldn't really tell them what he was up to. They'd think he was disgusting. He thought so, too, in the off-times that he was sober.

The hangovers he'd get would feel like splitting his skull in half, but whenever he wasn't too drunk to think normally, the feelings of disappointment and that oh-so-familiar torturous yearning would wash over him.

This wasn't who he was. He wasn't a person who drowned his sorrows in alcohol, he was a person who talked it out with his friends. Well, that wasn't an option now, was it? If he had any friends besides Clay that cared about him at all before this, they surely must have left after being ghosted and pushed away for so long.

It _wasn't_ who he was, he kept telling himself, even as he was dragged outside to the alleyway to be touched all over by an equally drunk, sloppy stranger. It probably would be humiliating to his past self. 

He gripped the back of the stranger's head, pulling at his neck. He usually had his eyes closed during these encounters to help picture Clay in the strangers' places better. 

The people with him were usually too drunk to realize at all that he was moaning another man's name into their lips. Or maybe they did realize, and they just didn't care as long as they got to make out with an attractive guy.

Another guy, another declined offer to go home with him. Usually they weren't too forceful and didn't persist after they got a no. Just in case they were, George carried around a little bottle of pepper spray around. It made him feel a little silly, but safety came first.

Just like the other nights, he stumbled up the stairs to his apartment and into his room. He left the door unlocked like always, in a drunken haze. He didn't really care anyways.

He hadn't been taking care of himself either - his eyes were bloodshot from the lack of sleep and he had let his beard grow out unevenly here and there. Every morning he looked in the mirror, with a pounding headache, he loathed how he looked. He had let himself go.

_________

It had been weeks since Clay had heard from his best friend. If a day of his absence had made him nervous before, this was making him go out of his mind with worry. There was really no way to check if George was fine. He had his old address, but that's it. No use in going to the house he moved out of.

With no lead to follow to find out the whereabouts of his friend, he took to overworking himself as a distraction. If he was able to push out a video every week on a healthy work schedule before, now he was pumping out content left and right. Maybe the quality suffered from that a little bit, since the fans had more concerns than usual.

Either way, if he didn't do something about the situation soon, he'd go insane. Hell, he'd search George's whole city if he had to.

He contemplated whether it'd do any good to send another text. The previous ones sure as hell hadn't been read.

_________

Clay

georgie hey :)

_________

Clay

georgeeee did you fall asleep for a whole day again 

_________

Clay

hey loser  
u good?

_________

Clay

george you havent been online for a WEEK

_________

Clay

did i do something? are you ghosting me?

_________

Clay

george if you don't answer im coming to the uk and kidnapping you  
loser  
reply >:(

_________

Clay

dude if u reply i will literally show u my face rn

_________

Texting him didn't seem to work. He'd need a better plan. Exiting the messaging app, he pulled up the contacts and dialed George's old home number.

_________

George was laying in his bed. It was a miserable afternoon. Nothing really making it that way - not even the rain - it was the terrible hangover he had from last night. If the headache kept persisting, he wouldn't be able to go out in the evening. 

He got up and went into the living room. On the better days, he tried to furnish his apartment little by little. There wasn't a lot to show for it, though. Just a basic couch, a TV with a game console hooked into it, a couple of armchairs and relatively simple decor.

He looked around empty takeout packages and pizza cardboard boxes haphazardly strewn about the room. He had reverted back to his old eating habits and it was taking a toll on his body - he was weaker than usual and often dizzy. That, combined with the constant hangovers, created a nightmare.

His life was slowly spiraling down into madness. He couldn't recognize his reflection at all. The last thing he thought about as he went downstairs to attend to his usual nightly affairs was how happy he used to be with how friends.

It was all Clay's fault. He had to enter his life and turn it upside down. A part of him knew that shifting the blame on his best friend was not the right way to go about stuff, but the mindset helped him cope.

Another night of mindless drinking. Another night of denial. It was a ruthless cycle that wrapped itself around George, trapping him in repetition.


	6. Newfound Hope

Clay stood in front of a modest suburban house. His nerves were getting the best of him. It was a weird situation - meeting George's parents as a last ditch effort to find him.

However, if there was the tiniest chance of finding his best friend this way, he sure as hell was going to take it.

He had called the home number and briefly explained the circumstances. The people on the receiving end of the call gave him the address and asked him to fly out to meet them as soon as he could.

He forced himself to ring the doorbell. A generic tune sounded from inside the house and he heard rustling. It sounded like slippers sliding across a carpet floor.

Soon enough, a middle-aged woman in a white robe opened the door. It wasn't open all the way, a little chain was holding it just slightly ajar so that the person on the other side of the door could peek out.

"Hello?" The woman spoke quietly, probably not to disturb anyone, "Can I help you?"

Clay cleared his throat, collecting himself. "Hi, yeah, um... We spoke on the phone. Regarding your son, George?"

The woman's eyes lit up in recognition of the voice as she unhooked the chain and opened the door wide to let him in.

He took the time to look around the place - the house wasn't anything extraordinary, it was as modest as the exterior. Despite that, Clay couldn't help but feel at home.

"So..." He started, "We need to talk about what's going on with your son."

__________

George woke up feeling like shit. Again. It was something he thought he'd get used to as time passed, but the effects of his lifestyle just took a bigger and bigger toll on his body as the days passed.

He was truly trapped. Even if he had the willpower to stop now, he'd have to face the harsh reality - he'd lost all of his best friends, distanced himself from his family and relatives, the latter of which he didn't care much for anyways, and... Clay. 

How could he face him after all the worry he put him through? Was Clay even worried about George? Were they really as close as he thought, or was he projecting his feelings onto him?

It felt as if mother nature was mocking him. If he hated the dull skies and soft rains when he first moved in, now he absolutely couldn't stand the blinding sun rays that somehow found their way into his room through the blinds.

The state of his apartment reflected his mood, too. The kitchen was dusty and unused, the living room trashed, and his bedroom, well... 

He looked around. There were cobwebs in the corners between the ceiling and the walls that he neglected to clean up. His gaming setup was untouched, but the desk was cluttered with various items he never got around to dispose of: empty soda cups, bottles, takeout boxes, napkins...

He felt something wet on his cheek. Self-pity. He'd started crying without even realizing it. It was George that did this, and now he couldn't help but feel angry. Not at Clay, not at the world, not at all the people at the nightclub that made disrespectful comments... At himself. 

He got up and stumbled into the living room, desperately searching for that smidge of motivation to turn his life around. It wasn't too late, right? His friends would take him back if he begged enough.

His head started spinning and his feet threatened to give out. Time came to a stop and the wooden floor seemingly swayed under his feet.

The last thing he felt before blacking out was a dull headache.

__________

"I'm sorry honey," the woman sitting across from Clay at a round wooden table reached over to touch his hand comfortingly, "that's really all I know."

Clay was fuming. Rage threatened to boil over the cool, collected façade he so carefully built. George's own mother not knowing his son's whereabouts? Clay instantly got a newfound appreciation for the everyday calls his parents made to him.

"You're saying..." he held up his head with hands on either side of his face to avoid faceplanting the table out of dismay, "you have no idea where your son lives? No street address, nothing?"

The woman gave a pitiful smile.

"He moved on, dear, and so must we." The woman crossed her manicured hands over the table, "you should've seen him before moving out, practically bouncing up and down with joy to get away from his family..."  
She sighed and looked up like she was reliving a pleasant memory instead of discussing the disappearance of her son.

"If you really don't know anything..." Clay quirked up an eyebrow, "shouldn't we call the police?"

The woman's facial expression soured upon hearing this. With a sneer, she stood up and headed towards the kitchen counters.

"So you're calling us bad parents, huh?" She picked up a cup and put it in the coffee machine, "We can't take care of our son, so the knight in shining armor _swoops_ in to save him?"

The chair squeaked against the tiles as Clay stood up. The woman continued:  
"Frankly, I think you should just respect his privacy. I'd hate it if he willfully distanced himself and you went after him..." She looked over her shoulder with a sly smile.

If Clay had been trying to restrain himself, his anger completely boiled over. "You're right. You _ar e_ terrible parents. And shitty people, too." Venom was dripping of his tongue, making the woman even more hostile, "we'll see what the law enforcement thinks when they discover you were against finding your own son."

The woman's eyes slightly widened, but she recollected herself and turned back to her stone cold expression in a flash.

"Thank you for the visit, _dear."_ She gave a sickeningly fake sweet smile and gestured to the door. "I think it's time you left, though."

Clay was done trying his luck with the woman. He bolted out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

_________

When George came back to consciousness, it was already dark out. He pushed himself up to stand on shaky legs.

He would usually be out right now, trying to fulfill his fantasies. However, he felt as if even walking down the stairs would be the end of him in the state he was in. Instead, he opted to stuff his face with cold leftover pizza to get at least some caloric intake before he passed out again, this time on the couch.

_________

Saying Clay was disappointed would be an understatement. He was hopeless - having no other lead to latch onto, he returned to his hotel room.

This was his first time in the UK, and it hadn't been a very positive experience. His future plans of visiting always had George in them, taking him on trips and introducing him to places and people he loved.

Not like this. He missed George. He missed the late night conversations they used to have. The video calls with Clay hiding his face, the snaps they sent each other...  
The snaps.

Snapchat.

He could see George's location using Snapchat.

He pulled his phone out and tapped until he found what he was looking for. A map detailing exactly where he was.


	7. Savior

Days and nights had blurred together for George. It was still dark out when he woke up from his nap on the couch with a headache. He went back to the bedroom to look at his phone. 4 AM. And new messages from Clay.

It took all the willpower he had not to unlock his phone and go through their old chats. Oh, what he wouldn't give to make everything go back to the way it was before this unhealthy obsession started.

He hadn't really looked at himself in a good while. The only times he was home he was either passed out or drunk. Would he even be able to recognize himself?

The trip to the bathroom mirror was difficult. Without being able to stand up straight, George had to lean against the walls to support himself. He opened the door and looked at his reflection.

A stranger stared back at him from the mirror. He recoiled. The stranger did, too.

He had sunken eyes, pink splotches on his face, uneven stubble that he had never grown out before, and terrible, sickly pale skin.

He stood with his mouth agape. Of course he knew he wouldn't be in the best shape, but... He hadn't expected it to be _this_ bad.

What was even the point of trying to look presentable? The only people he interacted him only saw him in neon lights and dark alleys where his face was mostly obscured. He doubted it really mattered. It's not like he was trying to impress _someone_ anymore...  
Still, he had been a person that took pride in their appearance most of his life. This was an unpleasant development.

With that, he turned and headed to the kitchen to retrieve another bottle of alcohol to drown his problems in.

_________

Clay packed up as soon as he could. He hadn't brought much in a hurry. Just his phone, a few changes of clothes and meds that he occasionally needed.

Right now, he only had one goal in mind. Clay made sure his phone was fully charged and left the hotel with his suitcase in hand. He booked a room near where George was supposed to be and hailed a cab.

It was difficult to know what he was feeling. Confusion? Hope? Excitement? It certainly wasn't a normal situation he'd found himself in, but the thought of finally reuniting with George kept him going.

_________

After a drunken haze, he spent his morning and afternoon playing videogames on his console. At least that way he'd have a distraction.

When evening came, though, George decided the silence in his head was too deafening no matter what he tried. The music he blasted to fill the emptiness earned an angry pounding on the shared wall between his apartment and his neighbor's.

Finally, he caved. He changed his pants and threw on a shirt that he hadn't cared enough to wash for several days of wearing on end, then unlocked the front door and headed down to the place he'd been frequenting for so long now.

It was an unusually busy night at the club. Maybe that had something to do with the discounted drink day that was held every week. Either way, George actually preferred when the place was crowded. More people to choose from, and he didn't get as much attention so he could slip away into the alley.

That night, he settled for a tall guy with a deep voice and brown hair. He figured it'd be close enough to Clay's appearance. As usual, they ended up in the alley, with George up against the wall, the other person towering over him.

The stranger was rougher than usual. The force he pinned George to the brick wall with was enough to leave bruises. He didn't mind though. At least he could physically feel something this way.

The man's demeanor changed the longer they stayed out in the cold alley - his eyes started to glint with an unknown intent. It made George squirm with excitement. Or maybe it was fear.

He had his usual fun - imagining Clay being the one to shove him against the wall and roughly kiss him. He restrained himself from moaning out his best friend's name, though, since he didn't want to risk throwing the stranger off.

However, when he declined the usual offer to go home, the man didn't budge. In fact, he pressed against him ever harder and pinned his arms up.

George struggled against the stranger's grasp and managed to pry one of his hands free to retrieve his pepper spray. He knew it'd finally come in handy.

He quickly shoved his hand in his pocket to get it and...

It wasn't there.

He'd changed his pants before leaving, hadn't he? He forgot to take the spray bottle out of the old pair.

Fuck.

_________

Clay decided to drop off his things at the hotel room he booked first since lugging around his baggage would slow him down in his search. He paid the cab driver and got out of the car, the crisp cold air suddenly hitting his face, making him shiver. 

It felt weird being this close to finding his best friend. If he hadn't thought of finding him by Snapchat, he probably would've had called the cops by now.  
After he was done putting all his stuff in his room, he pulled on a jacket and headed out to continue his search.

Clay watched himself getting closer and closer to George's little icon on the map. His heart rate was speeding up the more distance he closed between them.

The path led him to a lit up nightclub. He wondered if the map had malfunctioned, since this place wasn't George's setting at all. He only became more skeptical of his friend being there when he went inside. 

Drunk people were dancing and grinding against each other on the crowded dance floor by the bar. The music was far too loud and the drunken party goers screaming incomprehensible gibberish only made it more unbearable.

If Clay hadn't been there on a mission, he would've gotten out of that place as soon as he stepped foot inside. Needless to say, this wasn't Clay's setting, either. What business would George have coming here?

He did his best to navigate around the people bumping into each other and flailing their arms around in what distantly resembled dance moves.

After searching for George's face in the group to no avail, he spotted a backdoor possibly leading out to an alley.

The hinges squeaked as he opened the heavy door and it automatically shut behind him.

The alley was dimly lit, with nothing but a few garbage bins and vomit stains around. Just as he was about to turn back and check out the bathroom, he heard a muffled sound.

There was indeed someone else here. It looked like a tall figure hunched against one of the alley walls. It took him a while to adjust his eyes and look at the black splotch that was visible out of the dim lights.

"You alright there?" Clay asked, slowly walking towards the person. He figured someone had too much to drink and was throwing up, leaning against the wall.

__________

George had just started to panic when he heard the squeak of the backdoor. The man quickly covered his mouth to prevent him from making any noise, but George managed to force out a few muffled sounds hopefully loud enough to get the attention of his potential savior.

Everything was silent for a while as he strained to listen. His heart was threatening to jump out of his chest while he was pushed against the wall, unable to move.

Then, he heard shuffling. A pair of shoes on the concrete floor, getting closer. He mustered what strength he had left and tried to shout out, but all he managed to get out through the hand covering his face was another muffled scream.

The stranger was towering over him, looking down at him with nothing but unfiltered malice in his eyes. The hot breath against his skin reminded him of how close the stranger's face was, even with his eyes closed. George shivered at the stranger's sinister expression. Who knows where he'd be right now if some person hadn't walked through that door at this exact time. 

Right now, he hoped more than anything that they were visible in the darkness and it wasn't just an underpaid nightclub staff member taking out the trash. In that case, they'd have deemed it outside of their paycheck to check out a strange noise coming from a creepy alley corner and dismissed it.

Thankfully, the person came even closer. The grip on his mouth tightened, and George squeezed his eyes shut to deal with the pain. Suddenly, they spoke:

"You alright there?" The voice sounded concerned. And awfully familiar, but George was too drunk to think about that.

The man pinning him to the wall had no choice but to ease off him and excuse himself. Without any hands restraining him to stand up against the wall, George's legs gave out, making him shakily slide down and crumple to the ground.

His savior rushed over to him. All George could muster was a weak "thanks" before the man attempted to pull him up to his feet. His movement were urgent and he wasted no time pulling George towards the light to check if he was alright.

"You alright, man?" The person asked him, holding him upright by either side of his torso, but George was too exhausted to answer.

However, when the light from the bulb hanging near the backdoor illuminated the stranger's face, he saw how the the mans's expression changed into that of bewilderment.

 _"George?!"_ His voice was a lot more urgent now. George was too tired to question how the stranger knew his name. The grip on his arms tightened as the man croaked out, "What the fuck..."

Great, and now he was imagining his best friend's voice, too. He had gotten used to it at this point, though. But this had never happened without him actually trying and god knows-

"What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck..." The man sounded as if he was on the verge of tears, "fuck... Are you okay?"

This is what George had always wanted, right? To fulfill the fantasy of Clay taking care of him, holding him in his arms, comforting him. But he didn't really care for strangers. 

Then again... He could play out the scenario with another person, pretending it was his best friend. Like he always did. So for the first time, he did something stupid.

He asked to take the stranger to go home with him.

__________

It took all of Clay's willpower not to crumple and cradle George's frail form in his arms right then and there. This was definitely not how he imagined their first real life meeting to go.

George's eyes were glazed over, seemingly focusing on nothing. He had a confused look on his face, and Clay could practically hear the gears in his brain turning.

When he finally did say something, he mumbled out a few words about them going to his apartment. He didn't mention the address before passing out, so Clay decided to take him to his hotel room, instead.

There was the problem of actually _going_ there, though. George was in no way fit to walk all that way. So Clay did what he thought of first - he scooped him up in his arms and carried his limp body all the way to the hotel he was staying at. He ignored all the weird looks he got and unlocked his door. 

The bed was big enough to fit both of them, but Clay decided not to share it with George. Maybe once he woke up he'd think it was weird laying in bed with his best friend he hadn't talked to in months, so he opted for sleeping on the floor next to the bed instead.  
He was able to get a better look at George in the bright lighting. He looked... sickly. Clay's heart ached at seeing him in such a bad state. He wondered what transpired in the months he hadn't heard from his friend.

The shirt George was wearing was definitely not the cleanest. There were some alcohol stains on it and it smelled like booze in general, so Clay decided to get him changed before bed.

He took his own shirt off first. All that time he had spent in the club and carrying George in his arms close to his chest had made the shirt smell of alcohol, too.

At this point, George was drifting in and out of consciousness, so he couldn't fully cooperate. Clay decided to act fast before George could pass out, so he decided to get something to wear for him first. He retrieved one of his clean hoodies from the suitcase by the door and set it on the bed next to George while he started to take the dirty shirt off him.

George's head was hanging low, supporting himself with arms on the side of the bed so that he wouldn't fall over. Even if he did, Clay was right in front of him to catch him. 

As soon as George was out of the shirt, he lost balance and toppled back onto the bed, tugging Clay down with him as a last ditch effort to pull himself up.  
As soon as their bare skin touched, Clay noted how warm George was. He was awfully close to his face, too. 

It made him feel... dizzy. They made eye contact and he felt a weight on his neck where George reached up to pull at the back of his head. His half lidded warm brown eyes beckoned him to come closer and close the gap between them. He wondered what those soft pink lips would taste like.

Suddenly, Clay jolted back. Shit. His best friend was drunk, not thinking straight and what was he doing instead of helping? He didn't even know what. His cheeks were flushed from the close proximity they were in a moment ago.

Picking up the hoodie, he pulled George to himself. He felt his friend steady himself by holding onto the small of Clay's back, leaning his head against the front of his lower torso. He was mumbling something, but the slurring made it hard to hear.

Clay tried to tug his head back to slip the hoodie on. George's eyes were closed, mouth slightly open. His features were slack and relaxed, as if he were sleeping. He pushed his arms through the sleeves and pulled the rest of the fabric down his torso.

Deciding it wouldn't be comfortable for George to sleep in his pants, he pulled them off and draped them over the back of a nearby chair.

"Alright. You can sleep now, Georgie." Clay whispered, trying not to disturb his drunk friend by loud talking. 

All he had to do to get George to lay back on the bed was give him a soft shove. He covered the sprawled out figure with a blanket and then got to making his own makeshift bed on the floor which was just a pillow to rest his head on and a throw blanket.

He couldn't fall asleep until he was sure George was sleeping as well. Then he drifted off to slumber, getting a well-deserved rest. 


	8. A Good Night's Rest

It was dark out. The clock on the hotel room wall read 3:40 AM. Everything was dead silent. The temperature was exactly how Clay liked it. The blanket was fluffy and warm.

So why was he awake?

He wasn't sure. If there was a sound that woke him up, it had been long gone already.

Then, a silent whimper came from the bed above Clay. The bed frame creaked as George turned.

"Just shifting in his sleep," he thought, turning over himself, burrowing his face deep into his throw blanket.

Then, another whimper. Then a soft gasp. Another creak and then a ruffle as George grasped the bedsheets.

At this point, Clay was becoming a little concerned. He got up to check on his friend, quietly as to not disturb his sleep.

George was curled up, clutching one of the pillows. It was a stark contrast to the sprawled out form taking up most of the bed space from several hours ago. He had a troubled expression on his face, his brows furrowed and his mouth twisted into a frown. 

Just as Clay was about to chalk it up to talking in his dream and lay back down, George made another choked sound. It sounded like a short sob, or maybe a tiny gasp, but out of someone whose throat was being squeezed.  


knuckles were starting to turn white from gripping the blankets too hard. Clay noticed he was... shaking. No, shivering. That wasn't normal from a person in room temperature, not to mention under thick blankets.

"George. Hey." Clay whispered, softly tapping George's shoulder blade. When he got another gasp instead of an answer, he knelt down onto the bed.

George's eyebrows went from knit together to raised in shock. His hands were making grabbing motions, as if searching for something to latch onto.

Clay realized what it was - a nightmare. He'd had plenty of those throughout his life, so he knew how to deal with it. With the softest voice possible, he said:

"Hey, George. Wake up." He gently shook him by the arm, "wake up Georgie."

He felt his friend slowly stir. That meant he was waking up.

"Come on George. It's just a bad dream." Clay tried to be as soothing as possible so that George wouldn't get even more scared.

Finally, Clay saw him stop moving and open his eyes. He couldn't help but smile as he stared up at him sleepily.  
"Mmm... Hey Clay." George grumbled, "what is it?"

He'd be lying if he said it wasn't an adorable sight. George with his sleepy voice and messed up hair wearing Clay's clothes... did something to him. His eyes flicked down to his slightly gaping lips and back to his eyes in a flash.

"Sounded like you were having a nightmare," Clay sheepishly explained, unsure whether waking him up was a good decision, "I'll let you get back to sleep now."

George smiled up at him and closed his eyes.

"Thanks Clay... You should sleep too."

And with that, Clay went back to his blanket. As soon as George's breaths slowed down, he drifted off back to sleep.

George never really questioned who Clay was, he just referred to him by his name. Clay shook his head. George was so exhausted that he didn't question a complete stranger looming over him. At least that's what Clay thought, who didn't know about George's "play pretend" games.

__________

There was someone standing over George, holding a knife to his throat, eyes shimmering red. He pressed it down just enough to draw a little blood, making George yelp.

"P-please," he begged, "please let me go..."

George's pleas fell on the strange figure's deaf ears. He only pressed it down more and more, until all George could feel was a burning sharp pain in his throat and the hot blood from the gaping wound cascading down his collarbone, his chest...

His nose was overwhelmed with the smell of copper. His taste buds were filled with a familiar tangy, metallic taste. He desperately tried to plead for his life, but all that came out were gurgles as he choked up even more blood.

The glow from the figure's red eyes becoming almost blinding from the close proximity he was standing to George. He opened his mouth, revealing a gaping, endless black hole in its place. A gutteral, raspy voice sounded from far above them, then it seemingly encompassed them and got louder, booming from all around:

"Wake up, George."

The words made the figure recoil, then shriek in anger. He grabbed the knife, hovering the tip of the blade just above George's eyeball.

"George, wake up!"

The figure's face contorted into what resembled a toothy smile, rotten and black teeth forming a sharp ravine-like hole. It seemed to suck all the air and light out of the atmosphere, drawing it in and making it disappear.

"Georgie, come on. It's just a bad dream."

He recognized that voice.

Clay?..

Suddenly, the arms holding him down started phasing in and out of his shoulders, turning into puffs of black smoke. This didn't seem to please his captor. It let out an ear piercing scream, chattering it's teeth and aimlessly grabbing at George.

"It's okay, everything is fine. Just... Open your eyes. Wake up."

But his eyes _we re_ open. He reached out a shaking hand to the now recoiling figure and watched it dissolve into ash. Finally, he softly spoke out:

"Clay?.."

The dark, endless void he'd been in started dissipating as well. Warm light poured in from his left side and filled his whole vision.

"Yes George that's it! Just keep doing whatever you're doing. Wake up."

He blinked a few times.

George was in an unfamiliar room, with a man standing over him. Was he still asleep? Reality felt altered around him. 

"Uh... Hey." George spoke out, deciding to break the silence, "who are you?"

Clay sat down on the edge of the bed.  
"Hey Georgie," he smiled, trying to comfort his friend, "it's me, Clay."

George wondered how the stranger was so accepting of his fantasies that he just instantly adopted the role of his best friend that he was obsessed with. Had he paid him? Or why was he willing to participate?

"What time is it?" George asked, looking around for a clock of some kind.

"4:30. It's the second time you've had nightmares tonight alone." Clay stood up, "well, I should let you go back to sleep now. You sure as hell aren't getting any by me constantly waking you up."

George chuckled, "wait, _Clay."_ He scooted over to the other side of the bed, "stay here with me. I don't really feel like sleeping alone again."

The fact that he assumed he was in a complete stranger's bed made it easier for him to be straightforward. He felt the man hesitate a bit and then get under the covers with him.

George huddled against the man's chest. The shirt he was wearing smelled fresh and nice, so he buried his face into his body. He felt warm arms wrapping around him and pulling him closer.

It was how he always imagined cuddling with Clay would be like. This guy was pretty good at pretending to be his best friend. Or the one he projected his feelings onto, at least.

He felt one of the stranger's hands cup his neck, gliding over his cheek and into his hair. It was weird how much George liked such a simple, innocent display of affection. The strangers he got to fulfill his fantasies were usually just driven by lust.

The man pulled down his hand again, this time caressing his cheek with his knuckles. He touched the small stubble he had growing down the length of his face with the tips of his fingers.

"How come you're growing a beard?"

The voice asked.

Damn, even the voice sounded awfully close to Clay's. Maybe a little softer than the real deal, but George shivered at how uncanny it was. He ignored the question, since he didn't have the energy for small talk about his beard with a stranger.

After that was done, the man pulled George even closer by the small of his back. His hands stayed wrapped around his waist.

George nuzzled closer to the man, weaving his fingers through the soft hair and closing his eyes.

This time, he had a lot less trouble sleeping.


	9. Heading Home

Clay woke up just as the sun had peaked in the sky. Between the soft whirring of the air conditioner, George's soft breath against his body and the slow rise and fall of his chest, he felt oddly content.

To say he was in a weird situation would be an understatement - everything from the manhunt he went on to find George, his behavior the night before, to what position they were in right now.

Clay contemplated pulling away not to make him feel weird when he woke up, but George looked so peaceful he couldn't bring himself to move. Besides, it was kind of pleasant.

George had his fingers threaded in Clay's hair, his face against his chest. He looked pretty calm, despite his appearance - pale skin, sunken eyes, unkempt face... Clay's heart ached at the thought of what he must have gone through the past couple of months.

He couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away from his best friend's face. George looked so... beautiful when he was sleeping. When he didn't have his expression haunted by troubles unknown to Clay.

Suddenly, George stirred in his sleep. He shifted, then slowly opened his eyes. After taking some time for his eyes to adjust, he spoke:

"I think you should leave now."

Clay was dumbstruck. Had he done something to offend him? He should've known to pull away before George woke up.

"What? Why?" Clay pulled his arms away from George's waist and sat up to lean against the headboard, "I just found you! I can't leave now..."

Then, after George's expression didn't change, he added, "I... missed you so much, man."

He felt the bed shift as George stood up and got out of the bed, turning to him.

"Cut it out with the voice!" He looked down at Clay, half shouting, "It's freaking me out."

Clay seemed genuinely confused by the request. "My voice has always sounded like this, George..."

George's brows furrowed, his head tilting sideways, muttering, "I don't even know you, dude." He turned around, eyeing the room. "I'd ask you to leave, but this isn't my apartment."

"Yeah, I brought you to my hotel room. But listen..." Clay got up to his knees, moving to the side of the bed George had been a few moments ago, "Can't you recognize my voice, George? It's me, Clay."

Upon hearing this, George's expression changed into that of bewilderment, tilting his head back and letting out a hearty laugh.

"Pffft. Yeah, right." He seemed to find what he had been looking for, grabbing his pants and putting them on.

An idea popped into Clay's head. Some kind of proof, to make George believe him. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, opening up his Discord app. Tapping on George's icon, he wrote:

________

Dream

its really me george

________

George's phone buzzed.

"Check your phone, George." Clay slid off the bed, making his way towards the other side of the bed.

George looked offended. "Um. Thanks, but I don't need a stranger to remind me that I got a notification."

With that, he picked up his phone and headed to the door, not even noticing the new hoodie he was wearing instead of his old shirt. 

If Clay let him go, all of this would've been for nothing. Him flying out here, going through meeting his mom, tracking him in the new city, finally finding him... So he reached out and shouted, desperation apparent in his voice as it cracked, "George! _Please._ Check your phone."

With a last weird look, George pulled the phone out of his pocket. "Sheesh, if it means _tha t_ much to you..." He tapped on his screen and then stopped. For a few moments, it seemed as if he was frozen in place. Not moving, not making a sound, not even breathing. Then, he slowly turned around, facing Clay.

"...Dream?" He took a couple steps towards the bed where his friend was standing, "Oh my god."

The confirmation that George really knew it was him was all Clay needed to hear. With that, he closed the distance between them in a few long strides and took him in his embrace. He felt a few tears pooling in his eyes, and he let them fall.

"It's really me, George. It's really me." His voice was quivering, more tears rolling down his face, "God, I missed you so much."

George seemed to be in the same state, judging from the sniffling Clay heard. He felt tugging at his shirt as he was pulled closer, arms being circled tight around his waist. He rested his chin on top of George's head, rubbing small circles on his back.

After a while, George pulled away, looking up at his best friend with tears rolling down his cheeks. He spoke in quietly, in between choked sobs. "Clay... I-I'm so sorry." He planted his face back into Clay's chest, muttering the same words over and over again, the fabric muffling his voice. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Clay."

All Clay could do was shush him and soothingly run his hand up and down George's back.

"Don't apologize, George. You've been through so much."

Once the muffled whines died down, Clay took George's shoulders in his hands to look him in the eye.

"Hey," he said softly, "wanna go somewhere else?"

All he got for a response was a small nod and a tug towards the door. Smiling, Clay picked up the rest of the stuff he had in his room, grabbed his suitcase and followed George out of the hotel room, down the stairs. Once they were at the exit, George pulled up his hood, Clay assumed to hide his red eyes, a giveaway that he'd been crying. 

The apartment wasn't a long walk from the hotel, so they arrived at the building after a few minutes of rushed walking. They made their way up the stairs and stopped in front of a door on the 3rd floor.

George seemed to hesitate. He turned around to face Clay, his cheeks red from embarrassment.

"My place is... kind of a mess." 

Clay placed a reassuring hand on top of George's shoulder.

"George... I don't care. You know I'm not gonna judge you, right?"

With a weak smile, George turned back to the door, pushing the handle down. He had apparently left it unlocked the night before. Out of carelessness or forgetfulness, Clay wasn't sure.

The apartment had definitely seen better days. Clothes and empty takeout containers were carelessly thrown around all over the place, surfaces were collecting dust and it smelled like old food.

Clay pretended not to notice. George had a lot on his plate already, and he didn't want to add to that by remarking on what was already obvious.

George turned around, features already more relaxed.

"So. Welcome to my home, I guess."


	10. Dinner "Date"

The two of them stood in the middle of the trashed living room. Clay couldn't help but feel angry at himself for waiting two whole months before taking matters into his own hands.

The state of the apartment seemed to be affecting George even more. Somehow he looked to be even worse off than in the hotel room.

Right. The night at the hotel room. It was definitely weird, teetering just between out of Clay's comfort zone and pleasant. However, he decided now wasn't an appropriate time to bring it up, given how stressed George already was.

Clay sneaked another glance at him. He had tossed himself onto the couch as soon as they entered the apartment, now laying face down on it. Despite finally being at home after whatever he had experienced at the night club, he seemed stiff. Trying to get him to relax, Clay spoke up.

"Hey, George?" He moved his suitcases into a relatively empty corner. "When's the last time you ate something?"

The long pause and the grumble told him all he needed to know. He walked into the kitchen to find something to cook with in the fridge, but all he found was a half empty jar of pickles juice and beer cans.

Clay considered running to a nearby grocery store to get fresh food, but leaving his friend alone in his current state didn't seem like a good idea.  
By now, George had gotten up and was standing in the doorway leading into the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" He asked as if cooking was some kind of ridiculous alien concept. It probably was to him, judging by how dusty and unused the kitchen counters looked.

"Uhh... Not much. Wanna go get something to eat?"

George took a moment too long to register what he had said. After a few seconds, he gave a small nod.

He looked so small and weak. A man that had fallen victim to his own self destructive behaviors. Gone was the face Clay was so used to seeing on FaceTime, constantly laughing and screaming and spreading joy.

He hoped that it was just hiding underneath the gruff surface. Like a bed of flowers covered by a blanket of snow, only to be rejuvenated once winter passed. He oh so desperately longed for the flowers to spring back up, returning his precious George back to him.

But he had to take things one step at a time. All wounds take time to heal, physical or emotional, and George had clearly experienced a lot.

So, if the first step they had to take was to get some food and talk a bit, then that's what they'd do.

Clay couldn't help but smile a little. Things were looking up. He retrieved the apartment keys and held the door open for George to pass through first, getting out himself afterwards and locking the door. Throwing the chain of keys up in the air and catching them with a jingle, he turned towards his companion.

"So... Whaddya wanna eat?"

"I dunno, you pick." George slid his hands along the railing absentmindedly as they descended the stairs.

Clay snorted. "Fine, I just figured you'd know a place or two. You've been here for a while now."

There was a quiet shuffling as the fabric of George's hoodie rubbed against the chipped paint of the handrail.

"Hmm, yeah. I've been... busy, Clay." 

Just as Clay was contemplating whether to add something to fill the silence, they stepped outside.

It was quite a lovely place. He hadn't really had a chance to look around due to the whole ordeal. It was open and lively and bustling with activity. He noticed George glancing towards a small cafe with pancakes drawn on a board standing in front of it, but since he stayed silent he figured he was just looking around.

A nice diner caught Clay's eyes, framed in greenery, neatly trimmed bushed and a few strands of vines crawling up the side of the brick building. The bell above the door dinged as a middle aged couple entered.

Clay turned to George, a silent question in his eyes. He got a shrug as a response and, figuring that was as vocal as his answer was going to get, he tugged him towards the entrance.

The inside was just as homely as the outside. They got a nice private booth towards the far end of the diner. Clay glanced over the menu, immediately setting his eyes on their dinner special. He looked up to see if George had made his pick, only to see him looking down at his lap, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. He seemed detached and out of it, which Clay couldn't bear to see.

"Hey... George." He spoke softly, reaching over the table with his hand to get his attention. When he didn't get any, he continued, "you okay? We can leave if you want."

George slowly shook his head a few times, still not looking up. He was slouched forward, all emotion completely wiped from his face.

"You want me to order for you?" Clay suggested, trying to sound a little enthusiastic in an effort to cheer George up.

Again, no words. Clay watched his friend give a small nod and decide to stare at his empty hands instead, letting the hoodie strings dangle freely.

Clay quickly placed an order of two of the same dishes and waters, since he didn't think George would answer a question about which drink he wanted. 

_________

George's brain kept replaying memories from the night before. He had finally gotten what he wanted right? Clay had been there to comfort him, but all he could feel was... emptiness. He had been entangled in his best friend's arms, like he had yearned for during countless sleepless nights. And now, he was out having dinner with him, getting some one on one time, but all he could think about was how he had fucked up.

Was he even lucid? Maybe he was imagining all of this, after finally losing his mind. He drew on his hoodie strings, fascinated at how his actions had an impact on the physical world. So he wasn't dreaming after all.

He was letting Clay down. He had come to the UK to find George and have a good time, only to be sorely disappointed. George would be livid if he was Clay. Like he had been cheated out of a best friend.

Even now, George was angry. He was angry at how he met each and every one of Clay's attempts at cheering him up with silence or dry nods. He was angry at how he wasn't pleased with how things didn't turn out as he wanted them to, letting his best friend see his true form. But ultimately...

He was afraid.

He was fearful of how he might lose the most important person to him because one day his brain had decided to become completely enamored by him. His fear grew by each of Clay's question or conversation starters he shut down. And it completely paralyzed him.  
The only thing that comforted him, ironically, was last night's memory of Clay himself - his fingers soothingly running through George's hair, down his sides, across his back to pull him closer...

If the thing he yearned for the most was sitting right at this table with him, why was he shying away from it so much?

He loathed himself for his indecisiveness. Had he projected too many of his feelings onto Clay and created a perfect version of him in his head? Did he even like Clay, or had his brain tricked him into obsessing over a fake Clay it had manifested?

_________

They spent their time waiting in silence, in spite of Clay's multiple attempts to get his friend's attention to lighten the mood. George seemed unfazed, like he was floating somewhere far, far away in an endless void. 

The food came fairly quickly, giving Clay something to do instead of awkwardly sitting at the table, fidgeting with random things he found on it - salt and pepper shakers, napkins, toothpicks...

Clay was halfway through when he looked up from his plate to see George unenthusiastically stabbing at a potato slice. His food was untouched, and he hadn't moved since it had been brought out to the table.

"George. You're acting weird, man." Clay put his own fork down with a clatter, crossing his arms over the table, "please, say something. Did I do anything to upset you?"

He thought he was going to be met with the usual silence when George suddenly shifted in his seat.

"I, uh..." He was nervously tapping his fingers against the table surface next to his plate, making Clay uneasy for some reason. "I..."

George choked down his words before he could form a coherent sentence. At least it was better than nothing, Clay thought.

"Do you wanna..." Clay paused, but continued as George's eyes quickly shot up to meet his, his cheeks growing hot from realizing what a stupid question he was about to ask. "You need any... Y-you want me to help with that?" 

George looked at Clay, then back to his plate, then back to Clay. 

"With... my food?" He sounded confused, but not entirely against the idea.

"Well, yeah. We don't wanna be late for... whatever pointless thing we're gonna do after this."

The excuse seemed to be completely pointless, since George had already scooted to make room before Clay even finished the sentence. Upon seeing the nonverbal offer, he moved closer to his best friend, picking up his fork.

They were up close once more, and Clay would be lying if he said he hadn't missed the feeling. It was weird to admit, but he pushed the feeling aside for some time while he focused on feeding George.

"What do you wanna start with?" Clay asked, causing his friend to look down at his plate. "Your potatoes, meat, or the side salad?"

George shrugged. The bags under his eyes were more prominent from this distance. Clay scooped a little bit of everything onto the fork and held it up at George's mouth, who was furiously blushing, looking at the fork presented to him. Then slowly, awkwardly, he opened his mouth just a little, biting a small chunk of the food.

Clay couldn't help but snicker at just how cute George looked, all shy and red from embarrassment.

Another bite, and the whole forkful was gone. Clay picked up a bigger chunk of food and hovered it in front of George, who, this time, instantly devoured it.

The more he ate, the brighter his eyes got. It seemed as if he was waking up from a daze. 

The time he took to chew each bite gave Clay some time to look at him. He recognized the features he came to love so much under a coat of carelessness. 

Clay's lips were so close to George's that he could just lean down a little and kiss him. He'd never wanted to kiss a guy before. Now was not the place and time, considering the state George was in. Besides, he didn't even know if his best friend was gay, let alone into him. He'd been lucky that his own mom had always been extremely supportive of everything he did, so he wasn't worried about his feelings too much.

The fork scraped around George's plate as Clay absentmindedly tried to stab something with it, causing both of them to look down. It was mostly empty, so he gathered up whatever chunks of food were still there and brought it up again.

This time, however, George made eye contact as he wrapped his lips around the fork and then slowly pulled them off. He didn't break it after Clay put the fork down quickly and took a drink to hide his furious blush. It was evident what he was thinking.

George chuckled and propped his head up on his hands. "Aren't you gonna eat? Your food's gonna get cold..." 

Clay put down his glass and remembered he had an unfinished meal waiting for him. He had been too caught up in... whatever he had been doing with George just now to remember his own food. 

Just as he was about to pick up his fork, he felt a hand stop him.

"I think it's only fair that I feed you this time, Clay." He laughed, but sounded serious. "Gimme the fork."

Clay wasn't entirely against the idea, so he hesitantly passed it to him. 

The care with which George scooped food off the plate onto the fork was out of character from what he'd seen the past couple of days. He didn't look like he was lost in thought anymore, rather focused and lucid.

He looked up at Clay with a smile as he poked his mouth with the tip of the fork, waiting for it to open. It felt a little weird, but once Clay took the first bite, he didn't hesitate again when met with new forkfuls of food from George.

Once they had both finished, they realized how close they had been sitting, knees touching, shoulders bumping into each other whenever they turned. George cleared his throat, clearly feeling awkward, so Clay paid as soon as possible and waited for George to get up so he could slide out of the booth behind him.

The trip back to the apartment was peaceful as they walked alongside each other in comfortable silence, pretending not to notice how their fingers occasionally brushed together.


	11. Cooking Together

The rest of the day was spent lounging around the apartment, playing video games on George's computer and binging nostalgic TV shows. 

It had just turned 6 PM when Clay's stomach growled. He looked over to George to see if he was up for getting something to eat, only to find him dozed off on the couch next to him.

Smiling, he slowly stood up, careful not to disturb his friend, and left the apartment to go grocery shopping. Home cooked meals had probably been a rarity to George lately, so he decided cooking a hot meal for him for when he woke up would be a nice surprise.

The street was a lot emptier with only a few people milling about and a couple of shops starting to close up. He figured he'd try his luck with the bigger grocery stores he'd spotted earlier that day around the block, to see if they were open or not.

Luckily for him, he found a clean 24/7 looking supermarket with flashing display lights. He could see some shoppers picking out fresh produce through the glass front, and decided to head in himself.

What would George like? Clay had tons of ideas in mind for what he himself would usually eat in the evening, but he had to take his friend into consideration. He spotted fresh tomatoes as he was strolling down the vegetable aisle. Tomato soup maybe?  


He grabbed a few types of fruits as healthy snack alternatives so George wouldn't have to turn to junk food. A few essentials as well - bread, milk, a dozen eggs...

Maybe George would like pasta? He had a few fancy variations of pasta recipes that his guests always loved. Maybe burgers? He'd seen a lot of empty fast food wrappers around the apartment, George might've appreciated a healthier alternative. 

He was thinking of suitable recipes when he got approached by an employee. "Hi! Could I help you with anything?" She flashed a smile at Clay, hands clasped behind her back. 

"Uh... Well... I don't really know what I'm looking for myself, to be honest." he gave a polite smile, turning back to the shelf. "I'm cooking for someone else tonight."

A smile spread over the woman's face as she raised her eyebrow. "Date night, huh?" She laughed, but suddenly stopped, realizing she might've asked a personal question.

Clay awkwardly smiled back, fumbling with a box of pasta he had been reading the label of. "Ah no... It's a friend I'm visiting. I just don't know what he'd like." He placed the box down, grabbing another one with a fancy label.

"Ah, not your girlfriend then? Are you single?"

The question can out of the blue and kind of startled Clay, who managed to nod for an answer.

"Yeah," he laughed, "who's asking?"

The woman winked at him as she nonchalantly replied, "someone who might be interested in knowing."

After a while of looking around, Clay turned to the condiment section to pick a few sauces and spices out. 

The lady tracked him. "Well, I'd recommend our ready meals. They're delicious!" She gestured towards a station tender by another lady in an apron. "Plus, they don't really need any prep."

Clay didn't like the idea too much. He wanted to cook for George himself, for some reason. He wanted it to feel... personal. It was his way of nonverbally telling his best friend how much he cared about him. Not that he was shy about telling people how he felt, he just didn't think George would take it too well, since he wasn't a very expressive person.

Clay told the lady he'd check it out, resuming his shopping trip. However, the employee walked by his side, pulling items off the shelves and showing it to Clay to see if he'd like them and occasionally making light hearted jokes.

Just as he had picked some ingredients out and was about to check out, he got approached once more by the employee.

She looked nervous, fiddling with her hair. "So uh... I don't usually do this and I hope you don't think this is incredibly unprofessional, but..." Clay loaded his items out of his cart onto the conveyor belt at the check out station. "I was wondering if I could get your number and ask you out sometime? We could get drinks or something."

A few thoughts rushed through Clay's mind. She was pretty, and seemed genuinely nice. Plus, he _did_ like the attention... 

But George... He didn't even know why he was thinking of him. Would George be upset? That's ridiculous. They were best friends.

In the end, he smiled, taking the phone the woman had been holding out to him. "Sure. I'd like that." He typed his number and name in, giving his phone to her as well. By now, the lady working at the station was done checking out the items and was watching the interaction, playfully rolling her eyes at the woman.

He gave the lady one last smile as he got his phone back, picking up his items and pushing open the door to go back to the apartment. Just as he was about to be out of earshot, he heard excited talking coming from the two employees.

He felt himself smiling all the way back to the apartment. There was something nice in knowing that someone found him attractive. He opened up the contacts app, reading the name she had put herself as.

"Rosie 💘"

With that, he headed up the stairs to the apartment, entering and laying down the groceries in the kitchen. George wasn't on the couch anymore, so he checked the bedroom. Not there, either. 

Then he heard George call out from the bathroom, so he headed towards the voice.

George was hunched over the sink, holding a razor in his hand, his face covered in shaving cream. He was smiling.

"So, uh. Whaddya think?" He waved the razor around. "Not the handsome rugged look I had going on anymore, but..." 

He was interrupted by Clay's laughter.  
"Yeah man, whatever you wanna think." He paused. "It looks good either way." He added, smiling a little.

  
George averted his face, trying to hide an awkward smile. "Pshh, yeah. Whatever." Despite his attempts, Clay could see him grinning to himself.

"You gonna be done soon? I got some food."

George tilted his head upon hearing this. "Clay, you didn't have to do that."

Clay reached up to the door handle to let himself out of the bathroom. "I know, but I wanted to. Come to the kitchen when you're done."

Before George could protest, he stepped out, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

He unloaded and sorted everything he had bought at the grocery store. The kitchen was too dusty though, so he took a washcloth and wiped everything down until it was up to his standards.

________

George had just finished shaving off his stubble when he heard the sink running in the kitchen. He figured Clay was washing the produce he had bought. He grabbed a bottle of aftershave, hurriedly applying it on, trying to make it in time to help his friend out. It was the least he could do, really, since Clay had was cooking for him.

He rubbed the lotion into his face, glancing at himself in the mirror. He looked a little better with that horrendous uneven stubble gone. The bags under his eyes weren't as large, either - he had been getting more sleep lately. Washing his hands and drying them off, he headed to the kitchen.

He couldn't recognize the room when he first entered - the cleanliness was a stark contrast to the rest of the apartment. How Clay had managed to fix the room up in such a short amount of time was beyond him.

"Wow, Clay." He couldn't hide the wonder in his voice as he looked around. "You... This... You didn't have to do this. But also thank you."

Clay was washing off the cloth he had used for the cleaning, George assumed. "No big deal. Whaddya wanna eat?" He squeezed the washcloth dry and folded it neatly near the sink.

George looked around at the kitchen counter where all the bags had been laid out.

"You're the chef. You pick."

Clay stuck his hands into the grocery bags, retrieving an ingredient here and there. "Indecisive as always..." He held up a box of pasta in his one hand and a container of chicken meat in the other. "I could make something with pasta or chicken. Pick."

George hoisted himself up onto the counter, next to the food. "Um... I guess the pasta would be nice."

Clay picked up the ingredients he needed for the recipe he had planned, putting away the rest in the fridge. He put a pot of water on the stove, sprinkling salt into it, beckoning for George to come over. 

"I need you to watch the pot for me." He walked away, taking out a bowl from the cabinets. "I'll prep the other stuff." 

George made his way over the now vacated spot next to the stove. "What's that saying..." He looked down at the bubbling water. "A watched pot never boils or something?"

Clay snorted. "That's just an excuse for you to be lazy, George." 

George looked over to see him combining oils and spices into a bowl expertly. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the show, admiring how deftly Clay's hands moved. He couldn't help but wonder what else they could do. It made him feel guilty to think like that, but he imagined them laying him on the bed, running all over him and down his body...

"Hey George." He snapped out of his train of thought at Clay's voice, face red from his daydream. "Get the pasta and pour it in, tell me when it's cooked."

George retrieved the box of pasta from the counter, dumping roughly half of it in the boiling water. He jumped back onto the counter, swinging his legs. Each swing hit the side of it with a thud.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He imagined his headboard hitting the wall like that. There was only one person he had in mind to be causing that.

He'd have his arms restrained next to his either side, being pinned down as the bed frame creaked and mixed with the sounds of panting and groans filling the room...

This time, it was him who snapped him out of the thought. If he didn't stop, he might have had a... problem that would be extremely awkward if spotted by his friend.

As he was looking down at his swinging feet, Clay came over, scooping up a cup of water from the pot. George must have looked at him weird, since he explained:

"It's for the sauce. Much more flavorful if you use the pasta water." He set the cup next to his bowl of oils and spices. "Just a couple more minutes and I'm gonna mix it with the stuff here."

George hopped down, standing in front of the stove. He stirred the pot to avoid any sticking of the pasta and waited. He heard shuffling as Clay moved to stand behind him. He was... so close. If George had moved back even a little, their bodies would have been touching. 

His friend leaned over his shoulder, voice suddenly low. "Everything seems to be alright over here."

  
The sudden closeness made George shudder, which Clay must have felt, given how near he was standing. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, goosebumps running all over his body. He leaned his head to the side a little, almost touching Clay's face with his. Their eyes met for a long moment while none of them dared to move.

Both of their eyes half lidded, George thought about just closing the distance and kissing the man he had longed for all this time.

But at the same time, he was afraid of what might follow. Clay had never had a boyfriend and, to George's knowledge, he was straight. What if he had misread the situation? 

He looked up at the face he had fantasized about for months on end. He wanted to reach up to tug him down into a kiss more than anything.

Instead, he cleared his throat, looking away and blinking a few times to clear his head. He felt like he was floating. Even though nothing happened, the tiny closeness was exhilarating to him. God, he felt desperate.

Clay pulled back as well. He didn't move for a few seconds, then he put a good distance between the two of them, turning off the stove and draining the pot, dumping the pasta into the bowl next to the sink. George was silently disappointed at the lack of closeness, but he didn't dare voice his feelings.

Clay's hands fumbled for a few moments before he was back to swiftly moving them, mixing the ingredients thoroughly. He pointed to a weird looking cheese block sitting next to the fridge.

"Grate that, and then cut up some basil. We're gonna sprinkle them on before serving."

Clay's voice was back to normal, as well. Like nothing had ever happened. George wasn't going crazy, right? Something _did_ happen between them and it wasn't fully platonic.

He complied, trying his best to follow the instructions neatly. Clay was finished before him, though, so he took on the task of cutting up the basil. George couldn't help but gawk at how quickly he chopped the green bits up with his knife. It was evident how much experience he had with cooking.

Once they were done, they poured everything into the bowl. The cheese instantly melted, giving the pasta a creamy look. It smelled as delicious as it looked, and George was sure the taste would be impeccable as well.

"What was that weird cheese, anyway?" He asked, partly out of curiosity and partly because he wanted to break the silence that had settled.

"It's called pecorino." Clay answered, now retrieving a couple of small bowls from the cabinets. "It goes really well with this combination of spices. Thought you'd like it."

George scooped halves of the pasta into the two bowls sitting on the counter in front of him. He wished Clay would just lean over his shoulder again, standing so close he could feel the heat radiating off his body. Once he was done, he turned to Clay.

"What do you wanna watch while eating?" He asked, holding out one of the bowls. 

Clay took it, grabbing a couple of forks from the drawers. "Uh, I dunno. Whatever's on. Netflix maybe?"

George led him into the living room, sprawling across the couch, sighing. He picked up the remote to turn the TV on, when he felt Clay's leg touching his own. George _was_ taking up a lot of space, so he wondered if it was accidental or not. Either way, Clay didn't pull away.

The food was as delicious as George thought it would be. He moaned as soon as he took the first bite, causing Clay to look at him.

"Don't mind me, just enjoying the food." He looked down, stabbing another bite onto his fork. "It's so good, Clay! Oh my god."

Clay laughed as he looked at him, not having touched his own food yet. "You look so stupid, George."

He picked up the remote, flipping through the movie library. Once he found one he liked, he turned it on, pulling his legs up on the couch.  
George couldn't help but think how adorable he looked sitting criss cross next to him. He felt himself smile as he looked at him.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, with just the two of them eating and enjoying each other's company. George was content. And full. And sleepy. He felt himself doze off, finally happy in such a long time.


	12. Lonely Night

Clay was watching the movie when he felt his friend's head on his shoulder. He looked over to see George leaning over in his sleep. He looked so peaceful that Clay didn't dare stand up in fear of waking him up.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around his figure, pulling him closer into his own chest. He looked at the person held in his arms with a wholesome smile on his face.

Clay grabbed the blanket hanging off the back of the couch and wrapped it around both of them. He dipped his head, burrowing his nose in his friend's soft hair. The sounds of the TV faded into white noise as Clay focused on the soft breathing of the man in his embrace.

Suddenly he froze. What was he doing? He realized what an unusual position they were in - extremely close, with Clay holding George to himself. 

He was sure he'd turned beet red from the awkwardness. He had never been a shy person. In fact, he was the complete opposite of that, but every time he was around George he couldn't help but be drawn to him, all the while being compelled to shy away and hide. 

He figured it was just an innocent act of friendship. You know, spooning your buddies longingly when they fall asleep sort of thing. 

He turned down the volume of the TV, sinking lower into the couch to make himself a little more comfortable since he wasn't planning on moving anytime soon. 

The soft background sound combined with the contentedness of holding George in his arms slowly lulled him to sleep. 

_________

George felt unusually warm and fuzzy as he awoke from his nap. He relished in the nice feeling until he decided to open his eyes. 

The walls were white instead of the usual dull gray in his bedroom. There was a soft blanket wrapped around him and... Clay. Who was cradling him in his arms. How he got from one end of the couch to the other and into his best friend's embrace was beyond him, but he didn't care much for the answer. 

Right now, all he could focus on was how cute Clay looked when he slept. His jaw slack, his eyebrows relaxed. He was quite attractive - it was something George had thought when he first officially saw his face, but now, even more so. 

He nuzzled closer into his friend's chest, pressing up against the warm body next to him. 

Clay shifted in his sleep, grumbling something. He must've been dreaming. However, George didn't expect his friend to tighten his grip on him, smiling a little to himself as he did so. 

George laid his head back on his chest, closing his eyes. All he could feel now was Clay's slow, rhythmic breathing and the quiet sounds coming from a movie that had been left running. 

Slowly, he drifted back off to sleep, giving in to meaningless, pleasant dreams. 

________

It was pitch black when Clay woke up again. The only thing illuminating the room was the TV, casting the surroundings in flashing colorful lights as a fight scene played. 

He looked down to see his best friend still tangled in his arms. He decided it would've probably weirded George out if he woke up and saw how they had been sleeping, so he got up as carefully as he could and slid his friend back to his original spot. He pulled the blanket off his shoulder, covering his friend with it instead. 

Clay felt wide awake now. He tried to think of something to do to pass the time before George woke up, but all the activities he thought of would produce somewhat of a noise. 

  
He went into the bedroom, sitting down in the gaming chair. As he pulled out his phone to scroll through social media, he noticed a new text. 

_________

Rosie 💘

Hey Clay how are you?   
When are you gonna take me up on that drink? :P

_________

Without checking the time it had been sent, he decided to type out an answer. 

_________

Clay

i mean whenevers fine hows tomorrow night sound

_________

Rosie 💘

Can't sleep either, huh? :D  
I sent that at 7PM  
Well if you're free rn we can go 

__________

Clay

sure I have nothing to do  
ur gonna have to show me around though idk this place 

__________

Rosie 💘

Sure thing, meet me at the supermarket in 10 :) 

__________

Clay

kk see ya

__________

Clay decided to change since a slept-in wrinkled shirt wouldn't really scream "respectable date". He sneaked back out into the living room, quietly unzipping his suitcase in the corner and taking out a fresh change of clothes. Once he was done, he checked the time.

He had 5 minutes left. He quickly brushed his teeth and freshened up, then tried his best to soundlessly open and shut the door behind him and rushed down the stairs to the meeting spot. 

Rose had already been there when he arrived. She smiled at him, holding out her arm and looping it through Clay's. 

"So, where do you wanna go?" she asked, looking up at him. "Food before drinks, maybe?" 

Clay looked around at the closed up shops and restaurants. "Where exactly are we gonna get food?" 

Rose giggled. "I know a spot." She gestured towards a small boutique, but Clay assumed she was actually pointing past it. "Great food. And drinks, as well!" 

He liked the sound of that. "Is it a pub or something?" 

Rose nodded enthusiastically. "It is! It's a pub restaurant combo. And I know the owner, Stephen. He's a super nice guy."

They spent the time walking towards their destination in light chit chat and laughter. Rose seemed like a genuinely nice girl, but Clay couldn't seem to stop thinking about walking hand in hand with George instead. 

"You good?" Rose asked, seeming to notice Clay being deep in thought. "We're almost there, come on." With that, she tugged him around the corner in front of a lovely looking restaurant. 

They went inside, grabbing a small table away from the music and dancing patrons. Rose seemed to know what she was doing, so Clay let her order for both of them. 

She sat across from him, leaning her head on one of her hands, manicured nails tapping against her cheek. She was smiling, taking in every feature of Clay's face. Her gaze flicked around his eyes, nose, neck... And flitted back up to his lips. Her eyes lingered there for a bit, seemingly considering something. However, her expression faded just as quickly as it had showed. 

"So, what do you do, Clay?" She sat up straight, threading her fingers together below her chin. 

Clay contemplated whether to tell her the truth. He wondered whether she'd think it was silly that he was making a living off playing a supposedly children's game on the internet.

Finally, he just decided on being vague. "I... do social media." He took one of the drinks from the waiter that had arrived at their table. "Well, I _did_ meet you at your workplace, so I'm pretty sure I know what you do."

Rose grinned, letting out a puff of air from her nose. "Well, yeah. But I'm not planning on staying there _forever._ I wanna make it in the music industry." She took a sip of her drink. "Are you from around here? Your accent sounds American."

Clay did his best to explain the situation, trying to swerve around the reasons of why and the events that had taken place in the course of the last few days. He was about to ask a question when his phone buzzed. 

_________

georgie 💕

Where are you?   
I looked everywhere in the apartment 

_________

Rose also seemed to have noticed the notifications, taking a sip to hide her smile. Clay apologized, turning his attention back to the woman in front of him. He decided he'd reply later, since texting during a date would've been rude. 

Rose continued to chatter on, while Clay wondered if George needed anything. Maybe it was an emergency? He was pulled from his thoughts by a hand on his arm, slowly rubbing it up and down. Rose was leaning over the table, her eyes glistening with... curiosity? 

"So, what do you say?" A plate of food was placed down in front of her and Clay. "My place after this? I just bought a new PS4."

He shrugged. "Sure, sounds fun." He dug into his food, savoring every bite. "Wow. This is really good."

  
Rose giggled. "I know. I love this place." 

They finished their food with occasional remarks, heading to the bar for drinks. Rose had swindled a deal from the owner - all their drinks on the house for that night. 

Clay decided to take full advantage of that. He downed every single colorful, swirling shot that was placed in front of him, washing them down with even more alcohol - tall drinks in funky glasses, fruity and zesty cocktails, flaming and smoking liquids in fancy flutes. He lost count of how many he had had after half an hour. 

Needless to say, he was pretty wasted after that. Rose seemed to be in the same state, stumbling after him and laughing. The trip to her apartment was a blur. Clay remembered them getting down to business as soon as the apartment door was shut, though. 

He pressed her up against the wall, picking her up in his arms. Rose wrapped her legs around Clay's waist, kissing him urgently, tugging at his clothes. She pulled off her own top after taking off his hoodie, now fiddling with the zipper on his pants.

Thoughts of George home alone entered his mind for no apparent reason. Clay wondered what his friend would do if he had him pressed up against the wall. He trailed kisses down the collarbone of the person in front of him, biting and sucking in their trail. He imagined squirming George, calling out Clay's name like he was so used to hearing. 

However, instead of George's moans, he felt nails scratching at his neck, clawing him down his back, urging him to do more. 

Clay thought that if she had known who he was thinking of in her place, he'd have been instantly kicked out. 

He imagined it was George who he pushed down on the bed and got on top of. He also imagined his friend was the one he entered, and the one that held on to him as he screamed out his name. 

_________

George was sitting on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket. He had knees up to his chest, arms around them, resting his chin on the top. 

  
Since he had noticed Clay was gone, he'd been watching random infomercials on TV, waiting for his reply to the text which never came.

He felt empty again. The spots where Clay's arms had been wrapped around him felt cold, no matter how much he bundled up in the blanket around him. 

He laid down on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. He stayed there for a bit, unmoving, before taking out his phone again, opening the messaging app. 

_________

George

Clay I'm worried  
Where are you  
Watching TV alone is no fun :(

_________

He threw his phone onto the far end of the couch, the weight landing on the cushions with a dull thud. He sighed, pulling his arms over his eyes. The only sounds that reached his ears were some guy advertising an obvious scam on TV and someone making their way up the stairs outside. 

Before realizing what he was doing, he dashed to the door, looking through the peephole. It was pitch black, but the person outside continued their way up, the sound of their footsteps gradually fading away, the clicking of keys in a lock replacing them. And then, silence. 

Defeated, George shuffled back to the couch and slumped back into it. He pulled up his phone, scrolling through social media.

Hours flew by, with no reply from Clay. He closed his eyes, putting his phone away. A soap was playing on TV now, the dramatic music turning into his own dream as he imagined himself in a fighting scene.

He fell asleep hugging a pillow to his chest. Even in his sleep, he felt that something was missing, that something being the familiar warmth encompassing him and securely holding him. 

If he couldn't last a few hours without Clay, how was he going to cope when he left for America? 

George shuddered. He didn't even want to think about the time when Clay would have to leave and go back to his country. 

With that being his final thought, the soft fuzziness of sleep washed over him. He relaxed, letting his dreams take him into their embrace instead. 


	13. Jealousy

Clay woke up with a ruthless headache. He felt as if someone was inside his skull, pushing on it with all their might. He threw the covers off himself, rubbing his eyes.

"Morning." A woman stood in the doorway in just a t-shirt, holding a mug. "Slept well?"

He nodded while the events of last night slowly started to trickle back into his memory. Leaving the apartment to go out with a woman, getting absolutely wasted and then- 

She walked over to Clay, sitting down on the bedside. She held out the mug to him with a smile.

Still groggy from sleeping in and a hell of a hangover, he grabbed it. The aroma coming from the beverage swirled around in the air, beckoning him to drink it.

"Ah. Coffee." Clay suddenly became extremely aware of how naked he was under the flimsy blanket that separated him from the woman sitting next to him. He took a small sip, careful not to burn his tongue on the hot drink. "Thanks."

Rose leaned down, caressing his arm. She had a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Mind giving me a taste?" 

Clay realized what she meant after she laughed at his outstretched hand offering her the coffee. She leaned down, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

She stood up, leaving the room. The ruckus coming from the kitchen indicated that she was was making breakfast. Clay immediately got up, looking around the room for his clothes. He quickly gathered up everything he was searching for, dressing himself and taking a look at himself in Rose's vanity table mirror standing in the corner of the room.

His hair was a tousled mess after last night's events. Clay found himself feeling strangely indifferent every time he recollected what had happened. On one hand, sex was always nice, but on the other hand, he felt guilty.

He assured himself it was because he left George alone in the apartment, but deep down he knew it was because of something else. It freaked him out, feeling like this. George definitely wasn't in the headspace to find out how Clay felt, even if he ever managed to gather up the courage to tell him.

He smoothed down his clothes and ran a hand through his hair, combing the loose strands. 

He heard a voice call out from the kitchen. "Come out! I made us some breakfast!"

Clay opened the door of the bedroom, stepping out into a kitchen/living room/dining room area. A typical living space he'd found in countless studio apartments.

The room felt a little cramped. The tacky posters and colorful furniture did little to help the cause - in fact, it felt suffocating.

However, trying to be a polite guest, Clay decided to suck it up and stay around until at least breakfast was over. He pulled out a chair at the small dining table, moving an oversized hot pink flower vase on top to the side to be able to see the woman standing in the kitchen.

She was moving around an unappetizing yellow lump in the pan with a spatula. "You know..." She jumped as a stray oil drop from the pan popped up at her. "I don't usually do this kind of stuff." She waved her spatula around, trying to find the right words.

"Me neither." Clay replied, rubbing his head. The splitting headache had come back now, only more intense. The colorful puke personification of a room only made it worse, making his eyes hurt.

Rose seemed to notice this, offering him a bottle of pills. "This should help with your hangover." The smile she gave was genuine and Clay would've been smitten if this had happened a month ago, but his mind just felt preoccupied by thoughts of his friend at the time. The feelings he desperately wanted to be rid of. 

Soon, a plate of yellow mush somewhat resembling scrambled eggs and a slice of buttered toast was placed in front of him. It didn't matter how unappealing the meal looked, since Clay had been starving. He scarfed the whole thing down, popping a few pills in his mouth afterwards.

He made polite small talk to fill the awkward silence while Rose ate, then stood up.

"Whoa, hey. You leaving already?" Rose made an exaggerated pout, biting down on her toast. "I thought we could hang out a little."

Well, this made things complicated. Usually, people leave after one night stands, Clay thought, so if Rose wanted him to stick around, that meant she wanted to pursue a potential relationship.

Clay forced a smile, trying to conceal his uneasiness. "Well, I'd love to stay, Rose." He grabbed his phone off the table and put it in his pocket. "But I just remembered I had something urgent to do, so I gotta run."

Rose slid off her chair, following him to the door. She leaned up, standing on her tiptoes as she placed a kiss on his lips.

"Alright. I'll call you."

Clay opened the door, heading outside. He saw a small elevator, favoring to take it instead of walking down however many flights of stairs there were. 

Inside, he pressed a small button with a red "1" on it. The paint was chipped and faded, presumably from all the use it got. The sign above the door displayed a flashing "8" before the elevator descended. How they'd gotten to the 8th floor the night before without passing out at the door or why they hadn't used the elevator was beyond him.

The ride down was silent, but Clay's head was filled with thoughts. Usually he would've been pleased with himself for meeting a nice girl that was interested in him, but he couldn't help but be frantic about potentially letting her down.

A small ding signalled that he had arrived at his destination. He made his way back to George's apartment, even more thoughtful than before.

_________

George was still in the same exact spot as the night before. He drowsily opened his heavy lidded eyes. The TV was on, playing a talent show of some kind. At this point, the background noise was scraping at his eardrums, so he grabbed the remote to turn it off.

Total silence. He couldn't tell if he preferred the room with or without something to fill the void. He had no distractions now, and he despised it when his thoughts enveloped him.

Suddenly, he heard a faint sound.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

George rolled over on the couch, biting his face under the covers. He contemplated going back to sleep instead of spending his time without Clay.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The weird sound was getting louder. God, George was upset at his friend for leaving him in the middle of the night, even if he had no logical reason to feel like that. Clay was his own person, and he could rightfully do whatever he pleased, whenever. 

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Still, he couldn't help how he felt. He hated depending on another person so much. It was the reason he'd moved from his parents, right? To have more freedom and meet new people.

George didn't even realize he had been waiting for the sound to come again as he strained his ears to listen for it through the silence. However, it was replaced with the pull of a handle and the click of the front door.

George quickly sat up on the couch to watch the entrance, anticipating something. The door shut, and quiet footsteps against the tile sounded through the silent living room. A figure emerged in the doorway. 

"George?" The man came closer to the couch. "What are you doing?"

George rubbed his bleary eyes with the palms of his hands, looking up at Clay again, who leaned down to smooth over his hair. He appreciated the gesture, but more than that, he loved the feeling - he went nuts whenever his friend's fingers touched his hair.

The felt the couch shift as Clay took a seat next to him. Last night's hurt and boredom seemed to instantly melt away as he felt his friend's arm wrap around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

"Sorry, George." Clay was quiet, making his voice scratchy. It made George crazy, for an unknown reason. His face was probably flushed, and he was thankful for the lack of lights in the room. "I had a date with this girl Rose and... I thought it'd be fine if I left for a while, but I kinda feel bad now."

A date. A _date. A. Date?!_

George was sure he would've choked on his words if he spoke up, so he kept his mouth shut. A heavy silence hung over them, prompting an involuntary word to slip out from George.

"Date?" He immediately regretted saying anything. Clay turned his head towards him, so he continued. "It's fine then. Go... get 'em." He unenthusiastically pumped his fist in the air to go with the equally unexcited statement. 

Clay wrapped his fingers around the fist, pulling it down. "Listen, I get it if you're not okay with it."

George froze up. He had made it completely obvious, hadn't he? God, he was such a bad friend. Putting Clay down for not spending enough time with him instead of being excited that he'd found someone. So needy and clingy. Insufferable, too. Clay was probably wishing he was with his date instead of him right now.

"After all, I did come to the UK to spend time with you." Even in the dark, George could make out the outlines of Clay's face forming into a faint smile. "So, again. Sorry." 

He felt the arm pull away as his friend stood up and made his way to the kitchen. George stayed there on the couch, unmoving.

He heard a voice call out. "You want anything to eat? Cause I really need some real food in me right now." 

He pushed himself off the cushions, making his way towards the kitchen. It seemed that Clay hadn't waited for his answer, since he had two plates out and was frying way too many vegetables for one person to eat in a sitting.

George figured it was obvious he hadn't eaten anything. Even if he could cook, his spaced out gaze and the bedhead was probably an indicator to the fact that he hadn't moved from the couch at all, let alone made himself food.

George managed to push out a couple of words. "It's okay." He hopped up to sit in his usual spot on the counter. "Im not even upset, Clay. I was just... sleepy."

Clay had a relieved look on his face. He turned down the heat a little, turning to George. "I'm so glad you're not, man." He pulled open the utensil drawer to grab a fork. "Cause I plan on seeing her again sometime soon."

George felt his mouth dry up. He put on a weak smile as Clay glanced at him, immediately hopping off the counter once the gaze was off him. He wondered if locking himself in his room and breaking a few things would be a reasonable thing to do to cope with what he felt at the moment.

George had never been a confrontational person. Even now, he felt his disappointment douse the flickering flames of his anger, putting it out. The heavy weight he felt in his chest suddenly felt unbearable. He clenched his jaw, trying to maintain a cool, calm exterior as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

Clay seemed oblivious to what was going on with his friend, too caught up in stirring and seasoning stuff to notice. The crackle of the oily pan matched the shattering of George's heart, who wordlessly slipped away into his room.

_________

Clay turned off the stove, scooping the food onto two plates. However, when he turned around to ask George to cut up some tomatoes, an empty kitchen met his stare instead of his usually energetic friend swinging his feet in anticipation of the food.

He was relieved he had worked the fact that he decided to continue seeing Rose into conversation. At least this way, George knew he had his space if he needed some.

He cut up the veggies, draining the water from the pot he had been boiling the rice in, scooping that onto the plates as well. He decided to sit at the coffee table in the living room and wait for George to come. 

He flipped through random channels, tasting the first forkful of food. It was delicious, just like everything else Clay had cooked in his life, but even more so in contrast to the awful lumpy eggs he had been served earlier that day.

George still hadn't returned by the time Clay put the last bite in his mouth, so he stood up to go look for him.

He pushed the bedroom door slightly open, peeking inside to find George laying face up on his bed, blankly staring at the ceiling.

"Hey George." He opened the door the rest of the way, stepping inside. "Your food's going cold."

George slowly turned his head to the side to face Clay. "Hm. Yeah." He let his hand hang off the side of his bed. "I'll eat later."

The monotone in his voice was unsettling. Clay seemed unwelcome in his room, so he turned back, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.  
His phone buzzed as a text message popped up on his screen.

_________

Rosie 💘

Hey :) do you have a friend that's into guys by any chance  
I was thinking I could set my friend Stephen up with them and we could all go on a double date!  
What do you think? <3 mwah

_________

Clay thought now wasn't the best time to ask George, so he told Rose he'd let her know later. He cleaned up the table, carefully wrapping the untouched plate of food and placing it in the fridge for his friend to grab later.

_________

George sat up on the bed as soon as Clay left the room. What the hell was he doing? If he kept going like this, he was going to drive his friend farther away and right into Rose's arms.

He stood up, shuffling towards the living room. He hated making apologies, but it felt needed at the moment. Clay was standing in the kitchen, doing the dishes when George approached him.

"Hey, Clay." He heard a clank as Clay jumped and dropped a fork from his grasp into the sink. "Sorry if that came off rude, I just didn't sleep too well last night. Just groggy, that's all." 

He wasn't _groggy_ , he was _angry_. At himself, at Clay, at Rose... But of course, if he said that out loud, he'd make things ten times worse than they already were.

Clay turned around at an awkward angle, trying not to take his dripping hands out of the sink. He did his best to crane his neck to look at George as he spoke.

"Man, it's fine. I get it." George watched his eyebrows shoot up as he suddenly seemed to remember something. "Oh, by the way." He shook his hands dry and shut off the tap.

"Yes?" The curiosity George felt was apparently evident in his voice, since Clay laughed and turned around to face him with his arms crossed, leaning against the counter behind him.

"So... I thought it'd be a good idea to take you out..." George did his best to keep himself from exclaiming from excitement. "On a double date with Rose."

The familiar feeling of disappointment rushed over George yet again. "I don't really have a date, Clay." He felt vulnerable admitting it, digging his nails into his own hands.

"Yeah, I know." He _knew?_ George wasn't sure whether to take it as a condescending remark, but he didn't have the time to think about it as Clay kept talking. "I could set you up with Rose's friend, but it's a guy."

George nervously laughed at the proposal. If he agreed, Clay would know he was into guys, and be more wary of the seemingly platonic gestures of affection George showed under the guise of being straight, but if he agreed, he'd have something to do besides spending time with Clay and then moping over the fact that he had to leave.

"Sure, I could do that." George mirrored Clay's pose, bringing his arms up and crossing them. "When?"

His friend was silent as he pulled up his phone to type something. He pointed his index finger up, gesturing to him to wait. He was smiling as he exchanged text messages with his date. George felt rage bubble inside him. _He_ should've been the one to make him smile like that, not Rose. 

Finally, Clay looked up. "Well, she says they're down to meet whenever we're free." 

George thought that if he appeared eager to meet Rose's friend, his own wouldn't suspect anything. "We're free today, right?"

Clay raised his eyebrow. "Eager, huh?" He typed something on his phone and placed it in his pocket. "Well, get ready then, cause we're going in half an hour." 


	14. Double Date

George stood in front of the mirror. Whether it was his lack of a reasonable sleep schedule or the overhead lighting in the bathroom, he wasn't sure, but the bags under his eyes seemed even more prominent.

He considered where to start. Half an hour seemed like an awfully short period of time to freshen up for a date. Maybe Clay was just eager to see Rose. His heart twinged with pain at the thought.

He turned on the tap, letting the cold water run over his fingers while he waited for it to heat up a little more. When he was satisfied, he cupped some in his hands and splashed it against his face. The sudden cold was unpleasant, but helped to snap him out of the haze he'd caught himself wrapped up in since Clay's arrival.

His thoughts wandered all over the place while he brushed his teeth. Who would this guy he was being set up with like? Would he actually be able to maintain a healthy and lasting relationship alongside his burning passion for his friend? Or maybe the new guy would be his new coping mechanism. He doubted it would happen, but there was still a sliver of hope that his date would sweep him off his feet with his charm and looks.

He rinsed his mouth out and turned off the tap. The sounds of a suitcase zipper were coming from the living room, indicating that Clay was looking for a suitable outfit. 

George wiped his hands dry on the towel hanging next to the sink and headed to the living room. His assumption was right - Clay _had_ been looking for clothes, and now he was standing in the middle of the room, naked from the waist up.

"I... Uh..." George stammered, trying to collect himself so he could say something instead of random garbled sounds. "D-Do you have any, um, clothes? To wear?"

Clay held up a random hoodie. "Well, the place we're going to is pretty casual, so I'm just gonna wear something comfortable."

George nodded, face flushing as Clay turned away and continued to rummage in his suitcase. He slinked away to his bedroom, legs feeling like jelly.

He let out a breath as soon as he shut the door behind him. It was going to be even harder ignoring his feelings now that he'd seen just how _good_ Clay looked. And Rose had seen him first. The newfound sense of possessiveness over his friend was strange - it flared up whenever he thought of his friend's date.

He threw on a random band tee and changed out his sweatpants for a clean pair of pants. He looked at the pile of shoes near the door, but none of them really caught his eye. A sudden knock on the door made him jump, but he managed to collect himself just as the door creaked open.

"Hey George." Clay poked his head in. "You ready?"

George made a mental note of everything he had needed to do. Most of the things on the list seemed to be checked off, except for the shoes.

"I can't pick which shoes to wear." George sighed, kicking over one of the winter boots in the corner with the tip of his foot. 

Clay fully emerged from behind the door, standing beside George to take a look at the selection.

"I think the converse would look pretty cool with the band t-shirt."

George leaned down, grabbing the pair of black converse he hadn't worn for months, sliding one of them on.

"Jeez, why don't I ever wear these? They're so comfortable!" He slipped the second shoe on, standing up. "And make me look like I'm 17." 

Clay laughed. "I think it looks nice." He opened the door wide enough for both of them to fit through. "They're on their way."

They headed downstairs out into the open. The blinding rays of the morning sun immediately hit George's eyes, making him squint and attempt to shield his eyes from the light that seemed to be coming from everywhere. Clay seemed amused at his friend's standoff against the sun, but he angled himself so George could walk in his shade.

They walked together mostly in silence, with Clay occasionally remarking on new stores and restaurants he hadn't noticed yet.

Finally, they arrived at a cute little diner. Clay didn't seem to notice George stopping in his tracks upon seeing the building, continuing on up ahead.

Meanwhile, George felt time freeze around him as he took in the sight. Reality seemed to be playing a cruel joke on him. No matter how many times he blinked, everything was still there. Not to forget the fact that he was supposed to spend a few hours around this place.

This was the diner he and Stephen had broken up in. Or rather, the diner Stephen had brutally dumped him in. He had made himself believe they'd gotten separated on somewhat good terms, but seeing the spot caused the painful memories to rush back to him. Memories that he had worked so hard to forget.

He must have been gawking, since Clay had approached him with a mixed look of concern and confusement on his face. "Hey man, you good?" A hand touched his shoulder.

George felt a little shaken up, but nothing too major. He tried to stop himself from turning around and running back to the apartment like a coward, hanging on the thread of hope that he would make new memories there that day. Preferably ones so good that they'd make him forget all about what he'd gone through nearly a year ago.

"I'm fine, Clay." He brushed the imposing thoughts off. "Just... admiring... this fine establishment."

Clay didn't seem to buy the excuse, but he got distracted by a girl jumping on him from behind, wrapping her arms around his neck and excitedly squealing. George tried his best not to look grimace and waited until she was done "greeting" his friend so that he could introduce himself.

"Hey guys!" She untangled her arms from Clay, _finally,_ George thought. "My friend's running a little late, but he said we should go inside and order while we wait."

George shook her hand, introducing himself by his first name. Rose seemed to know already, but she politely smiled as she returned the gesture.

George lugged behind as Clay and Rose walked ahead hand in hand, grabbing an empty table. They sat down next to each other, leaving two empty seats across from them for George and his date who had yet to arrive.

Even with the close proximity they were sitting in, Rose seemed dissatisfied, scooting closer with a scrape of her chair that made George cringe. She was all hands, cooing and sweet talking Clay. She stopped for a while when the waitress arrived and they placed their orders, but soon George had to endure the public display of affection on the man he had been yearning for for ages yet again.

He was scrolling through social media on his phone in an attempt to avert his eyes when the lively chit chat across from him stopped. Rose jumped up from the chair with her face lit up.

"Stephen!" She exclaimed, rushing over to greet her friend.

George slowly stood up and turned around.

Stephen.

Stephen walking over to them.

The Stephen that broke up with him in this very diner.

The Stephen he had almost slept with while fantasizing about his best friend.

And he was George's _date?!_

He was rooted in place as Stephen hugged Rose and stood in front of the table, holding out his hand. George absentmindedly shook it, still in denial about who had just showed up.

Stephen had a picture perfect smile plastered across his face. "Nice to meet you, George. Rose has told me _all_ about you." The emphasis he put on the word 'all' gave George a sinking feeling in his gut. 

Clay got up to greet Stephen as well.  
"And _Clay!"_ They shook hands. "I've heard your name a lot." He glanced at George as he said that, but no one except George seemed to notice his ill intent masked as a harmless remark.

They all returned to their former seats, Stephen pulling out a chair next to George. He was pretending as if this had been their first encounter, peppering in small stories and charming jokes here and there. Gradually, the pairs branched off into their own conversations. Stephen turned to George, leaning his cheek on the knuckles of one of his hands.

"So George... Clay's your best friend, huh?" He gave a sly smile as he continued. "I'd been wondering who he was ever since our little... incident. Does he know?"

All the color had drained from George's face at this point. The blood froze in his veins, the malicious look on Stephen's face making him shudder. His eyes bore into George's skull, drilling a hole in his head. Stephen pretended to be unaware of the effect the small question had had on his companion.

"Ah... So he doesn't. Would make a great conversation starter, wouldn't it?" Stephen finally took his intense stare off him as their food was placed on the table. 

Everyone dug in, except for George whose eyes were glued to the table. He looked up at the couple sitting across from him. Rose was stealing bites of food off of Clay's plate and then feeding him with her fork. The sight made him mentally gag. His friend seemed like he was having fun, though, so he tried to drown the feelings out.

Stephen spoke up. "So, George. What'd you do when you moved here?" He took a bite and waited for an answer while he chewed with a smirk on his face.

George gave a tense laugh. "Oh, you know." He doubted Stephen was actually interested in the answer. He probably knew damn well what George had been up to. All the eyes around the table were on him, though, so he continued. "Exploring the area. Nice place."

Stephen didn't seem satisfied with the vague answer. "Say, George... Which places did you discover these last few _months_ of exploring?"

Stephen was definitely out to get him. Of course he didn't know any actual spots, since he'd been frequenting the night club and binge drinking in all his free time. Stephen seemed to sense his discomfort, eyes burning with a raw, predatory fire, like a shark that had smelled blood in its domain.

George had to answer, though. He tried to recall any names he'd seen on signs on the way over to the diner.

"Well, there's this family restaurant that I went to when I was new to the area." He took a sip to buy himself some time. "Great pancakes."

Clay chimed in. "And that night club! Near your apartment. Looked fun."   
George hoped it wouldn't have been brought up, but Clay was just trying to help.

George nodded. "Ah, right. I went there a couple of times." A severe understatement. But he wasn't about to admit he had been a regular at that place for two whole months to the people around the table.

"Anywhere else?" Stephen tilted his head, prompting him to continue. "Any friends that you met while you were out and about?"

George forced himself to smile. "No, not really." He knew exactly which incident Stephen had referenced by that question.

He glanced at the time on his phone, only to find they'd only been at the diner for twenty minutes. This was going to be a long day.

__________

Clay was having fun. Or at least, pretending to have fun. He wasn't entirely sure who he was putting a show on for, though he had a slight idea. He stole quick glances at George and his date in between the kisses Rose was so persistently asking for.

She was a really pretty girl, but Clay felt as if he didn't have the emotional capacity to like her - he'd been mentally drained since he'd found George pressed up against the alley walls behind that club, even if he didn't like to admit it to himself.

Stephen was murmuring things in his friend's ear that he couldn't quite hear. It sounded like a joke, though, judging by the way Stephen couldn't hide his giddiness while talking.

He looked back at Rose who was staring up at him with a sweet smile, holding out a forkful of food and hovering it near Clay's mouth. He accepted it, savoring the hot bite. He almost choked on the mouthful when a shrill scraping noise sounded throughout the dining hall. He took a moment to realize the source had been George's chair - hastily pulled away from the table as he'd jumped up. He was now towering over Stephen, glowering at him with pure unfiltered rage. He shut his eyes, trying to compose himself.

"I can't do this anymore." His voice was trembling, threatening to break. The commotion had drawn a few curious looks from the tables around them. "I know you have it out for me, Stephen, but the least you could do was just keep your fucking mouth shut! I'm done."

He kicked the chair to the side, storming out of the building. Clay looked at Rose apologetically before he shot up from his seat and darted out after his friend.

He looked around, spotting George ducking into an alley. Clay sped up his pace in an attempt to close the distance between them. He turned the corner, heading into the narrow gap he'd seen George disappear through a moment ago. Upon spotting him, he slowly approached, trying not to make his presence too imposing.

"What was that?" He asked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

George stayed silent, his downcast gaze not once faltering. 

"George. What happened back there?"

George shifted, still avoiding eye contact. "If you followed me to tell me how I embarrassed you, leave me alone, Clay." His words were dripping with venom, the impact of his sharp tone hanging in the air. He sighed. "I just... It's not easy for me, sharing a table with Stephen, you know. We go way back."

The untamed curiosity must've been evident in Clay's eyes, since George continued. "We used to date, actually. For a long time." He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "And I'm pretty sure he picked that diner to spite me. He... broke up with me right there a year ago."

Clay was dumbstruck. Given how George had acted around Stephen, he figured it was just first date nerves behind the demeanor rather than god knows how many years of troubling history.

"George..." His voice was soft, melting away his friend's hard set jaw and stiff posture. "Why didn't you tell me?"

George wrapped his arms around himself, shuddering. "I dunno. I guess I just wanted you to have a good time with Rose." He finally lifted his head, leveling his gaze with Clay's. "And I'm sorry I haven't been that supportive about you two. It's just... It's hard for me to see you with her, Clay. Really hard."

It took Clay a little while to comprehend what that meant, letting out a small 'oh' once the realization hit. He looked at the man standing in front of him, suddenly looking so small. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight. George leaned his forehead against his shoulder, leaning into the embrace. Clay ran his fingers up his friend's neck and through the short hair on the back of his head, combing his fingers through the soft strands.

Soft rays of sun were shining through the foliage crawling along the netted roofing above them, bathing the two in warm golden hues. 

George looked up with soft brown eyes. At that moment, Clay felt everything that he didn't when he looked at Rose. He felt a warmth pooling inside of him that he hadn't experienced before. He cupped either side of George's face in his hands, gazing at him with a soft look in his eyes.

The man facing up at him looked so... vulnerable. Like his eyes were masking a dozen different emotions. He raised his hand, placing it on Clay's cheek. It felt warm and soft, making the spot it touched tingle. 

Clay leaned down. He couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he just closed the distance. George had basically admitted to being jealous of Rose, so maybe he wanted it to happen as well.

A shout of Clay's name jolted them away. Then a pair of quick footsteps on the pavement. Their companions had probably followed them out and were looking for them.

George cleared his throat. He was flushed, averting his gaze. Clay wasn't any more composed than him - his face was burning, and he already missed the caring palm on his cheek.

Rose and Stephen darted into the alley. Now that Clay was aware of what had happened, Stephen's concerned expression seemed much more obviously fake. He couldn't help but be angry at himself for not having seen it before.

"Are you guys okay?" Rose leaned over with her hands on her knees, desperately trying to catch her breath. She straightened after a while. "You had us so worried!"

Stephen walked over, holding out his arm to George. "Come on, you can talk to me about it. Let's go someplace more quiet."

Clay stood in front of George, creating distance between his friend and Stephen. "I don't think he wants to go anywhere right now, buddy." The sudden harsh tone made Rose raise an eyebrow. "And Rose, I'll catch up with you later. The dinner's already paid for."

Rose, however, didn't budge. "I'm not going anywhere until you explain what's going on." She stubbornly crossed her arms, gaze flickering between Clay and George. "You two had us worried sick! Darting off without explanation like that..."

Clay walked over to Rose, placing his hands on her shoulders. She seemed to soften at the touch. He, however, didn't feel anything like he had when he held George. He'd been in a similar position a moment ago. Back then, a million different things had been swirling around in his head, he had felt intoxicated and dizzy. But now, he was feeling absolutely nothing.

"Listen. I'm sorry, alright?" Clay tried not to move back as Rose pulled up his hands to her face and leaned into the touch. "George looks pretty shaken up. I'll call you later." 

Rose seemed to understand, giving a small nod. Clay withdrew his hands, returning to George's side. Stephen followed Rose out of the alley with a last distasteful look over his shoulder.

Clay turned to George who seemed a lot more relaxed, albeit still a little shy from their little display of affection. Even though nothing major had happened, Clay felt joy bubbling up inside him, like an elementary school boy who held hands with his crush during recess. It was sweet, it was new, and it was innocent.

"So, whaddya say, wanna head back?" Clay felt beat, and wanted nothing more than to curl up and fall asleep. Apparently, George felt the same, since he nodded and followed behind as Clay stepped out of the alley.


	15. Road Trip

Clay had been laying on the couch for over an hour at this point. He'd attempted to fall asleep several times, to no avail. Even now, as he lay awake, his mind was occupied with the events of their double date.

George had been the most vulnerable he'd ever seen him in that alley. That naked, sincere gaze he looked up at Clay with awoke something in him. The desire to... have him. Not in a purely sexual way, but to protect, cherish and take care of him. 

He was about to deem his efforts fruitless and stand up when he heard the bedroom door open and feet shuffling against hardwood, then tile. George stood in the doorway, looking exhausted. It seemed he hadn't been able to rest, either.

"Hey." His voice was rough from unuse. "Can't sleep either?"

Clay absentmindedly shook his head at the question. "Wanna do something?"

George walked over to sit down next to him, pulling his legs up onto the cushions. Clay loved how he looked, all curled up and cozy.

George watched him with a contemplating look in his eyes. "Like what?"

"I dunno... What usually helps you fall asleep?"

_________

George could think of a few things to answer the question with, but there was only one activity that he deemed appropriate enough to be done with a friend in that list.

He sprawled out onto the couch in his usual pose, letting out a yawn. "Well, I fall asleep like that-" He snapped his fingers to emphasize the point. "On road trips or when I'm out of town and stuff."

"That's it?..." Clay raised his eyebrow. "We could try that, I guess."

George watched as Clay stood up and grabbed a few things - his shoes, a jacket, the apartment keys... He couldn't help but think of how he looked under that shirt. It wasn't left up to fantasy anymore, after all - he'd seen the whole thing with his own eyes.

Clay put on his shoes, turning around. George was still sitting on the couch, too caught up in his imagination to have even started getting ready.

"You coming like that?" Clay gestured at George's bare feet and pajamas that just consisted of sweatpants and a baggy tee. "I mean, I don't mind."

George smiled to himself. He got up as well, heading into his bedroom to get dressed. He took off his clothes, looking around for outfits that Clay would've liked. It was weird, but he wanted to look good since it was gonna be the two of them.

 _Ju st_ the two of them.

He wasn't sure why that was such a big deal - they were alone all the time in the apartment. But the concept of them going away someplace, together, made his heart flutter. 

He'd had all sorts of vacations with his parents - road trips, beach days, weekend getaways. His parents had even taken him out of the country with them on a few occasions. As a kid, he used to be over the moon whenever his mom announced they were going out of town for a holiday, but the excitement started to dwindle as he grew up and dread settled in the empty cavities.

He had nothing to complain about - his parents had nothing major wrong with them. They had their ups and downs like all people, but George couldn't help but always feel... neglected, emotionally. Even now, he felt the parental love he should have gotten missing. Maybe that's why he craved acceptance and nurturing from others so much, to fill the void. God, daddy and mommy issues. Could he get any more pathetic?

Clay opened the bedroom door, looking inside. Upon seeing George still in the middle of his search, basically naked, he immediately tensed up.

"Oh, uh. I-" He looked unsure whether to close the door and back out or to nonchalantly play it off. "Um. I'm gonna wait in your car."

With that, he shut the door with a soft click. George could hear the key clicking in the lock of the front door and Clay hurrying down the stairs. 

He hadn't even had the time to process what had happened. Usually he wouldn't have been too embarrassed by being walked in on in his underwear by a friend. But of course this was different - _everything_ was different when it came to Clay.

To his surprise, he didn't feel as awkward as he thought he would. He was too preoccupied with how Clay had reacted to care - usually his friend had a composed demeanor, but it had completely faltered upon walking in on George. He weirdly relished in having that effect over him. 

He got dressed, looking himself over in the mirror. His skin had more or less returned to its normal color, his face was clean shaven and his figure was fuller. Overall, this was the healthiest he had looked since his drinking binge.

Clay had left the key in the lock for George to be able to get out. He stepped outside, turning it over and putting it in his pocket.

He took his time making his way down the stairs. Sure, he was fine with having been walked on, but Clay had seemed pretty flustered. George would've gone as far to call the expression on his friend's face discomfort.

Was that it? Had he been uncomfortable? Maybe George had completely misread the situation in thinking he was just a little thrown off balance and it was going to be weird between them. Before he had enough time to overthink, though, he had already made his way down the stairs and into the underground building parking lot.

He'd only been down there a handful of times since he'd moved into the city. On the better days, when he was conscious enough to function in between his drinks, he'd try to maintain and upkeep his car. Just a few basic things - cleaning it out, making sure the engine hadn't died, etc.   
It gave him a sense of accomplishment, even if it was relatively tiny. It made him feel like he had at least a tiny part of his life under control. Thinking back now, alcohol had been holding the reins for the rest of it.

Clay had kept true to his word and was now sitting in the driver's seat, scrolling through his phone. The light off the screen reflected onto the side window like a little spotlight in the dim parking lot.

George circled around the car to the other side, opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat. "Did I say you could take my seat, Clay?"

Clay put away his phone, giggling. "Well, I got here first, so..." He turned the key into ignition. "Finders keepers, losers weepers, or whatever."

George rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, but he secretly loved the banter. He kind of preferred being in the passenger seat, watching Clay all focused and serious as he navigated his way out of the parking space. He couldn't keep his eyes off of how his hands gripped the steering wheel with such a firm hold, how he confidently but carefully made his movements.

George leaned back against his seat, closing his eyes. "This is crazy."

He felt light hit his closed eyelids as they presumably left the underground parking lot. He flung the back of his hand over his eyes, leaning his elbow onto the rolled down window slot.

"What's crazy?" 

"Well, you know. I suggested the drive partly as a joke." He straightened, opening his eyes. The sunlight hit his face from the right. "And you just... sprung into action."

Clay laughed. "Well, yeah." He rolled down his window as well. "You said it'd help. And I'm not too against the idea of going out of town for a bit."

George couldn't help but smile at the honest but sweet reply. He leaned over to turn on the radio, only to have his hand swatted away. He looked over at Clay with his eyebrow raised.

"What?" George asked, going for the button again, this time being met with a soft but unyielding grip on his hand. It sent goosebumps down his entire body. "Let me turn on the radio, Clay."

Clay shook his head. "In a bit. I wanna talk to you first."

He sounded serious, making George's heart skip a beat. He loved the sombre tone he'd suddenly picked up.

"O-okay? About what?" He was nervously smiling, a habit he'd acquired in his childhood whenever he was in an awkward situation. 

"Well, you know. The stuff you said back at the diner." George would have probably melted if they were having this conversation face to face, and he was extremely relieved to find Clay was a good driver and kept his eyes on the road. "About... how it was difficult for you to see me with Rose? What was that about?"

Oh shit. Oh shit. George squirmed in his seat as he struggled for an answer. Each passing moment that he left silent was only making the situation more awkward. The fact that Clay had refused to turn on the radio only made it worse, with nothing to fill the wordless gaps.

"Listen, George..." Clay continued. "I know it was a dick move of me to start seeing someone when you needed me around."

George breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Yeah, um... that's what it was." He cringed at how stiff his own words sounded. "I'm fine now, Clay. I was just acting up because of... Stephen."

Clay nodded, understanding. "You sure, though?" When met with an agreeing hum from George, he continued. "So it's fine for me to keep going out with her?"

George strained against his every muscle not to scream 'no', to confess everything right then and there, to tell him how his feelings had been eating him alive and it had only gotten worse since Clay had come to the UK, how utterly and completely lost he was without him and how much he _loathed_ the person that had taken him away from George.

Instead, he forced out a short reply. "Yeah, for sure."

"Alright then." Clay leaned over and pressed the button, sounds of a loud and cheery podcast immediately filling the car. "Thanks, man."

He felt a pat on his shoulder as he forced a smile. He'd been hoping for a nice road trip to spend some alone time with Clay, away from the place he'd experienced... whatever those two months were. But now, he knew his thoughts would be tainted with his best friend with Rose. 

George did his best to keep up a nonchalant demeanor as the concrete highways and towering streetlights changed to grassy fields and unkempt greenery. 

"Look, a cow!" George suddenly exclaimed, causing Clay to jump. "And another! Oh my god, there's so many!"

He leaned out of his window like an excited child, letting out squeals every time they encountered a new herd of farm animals.

He looked back to see Clay smiling at him. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just..." He looked back to the road. "Cute."

George felt himself blush. "Shut up." He stammered a little, feeling stupid about how much a single sentence from Clay affected him. He hoped his friend wouldn't notice. 

A phone screen lit up in between their seats. George's gaze instinctively flicked down, spotting a text message pop up on his friend's screen.

_________

Rosie 💘

Hey Clay <3 Still on for tomorrow?

_________

"Tomorrow? What's happening tomorrow?" George looked back up.

"Well, I did say I wanted to keep seeing her, right?" Clay refused to meet his eye, gazing up ahead at the road.

"So... you made plans with her before you brought up the whole thing about me being okay with it." He was starting to feel upset. "Why'd you even ask me, then?"

_________

Clay wanted to grab George by his shoulders, tell him he didn't want to, tell him he did it because he wanted a distraction, to hold him tight in his arms, reveal everything he'd been feeling and thinking.

Instead, he sighed. "I dunno. If you hadn't been fine with it, I guess I'd call it off."

He could feel a pair of eyes boring into the side of his head. George seemed angry. "Then I'm not fine with it."

"What?"

"I'm not fine with it, Clay. I'm sorry." He crossed his arms in his seat. "I told you back at the diner, and I'm telling you now. I absolutely _hate_ seeing you with her instead of me."

A moment of quiet, then two. Before they knew it, they'd lapsed into silence. Both of them were thinking, for sure. At least, Clay's head was swarmed with thoughts, invading, poking and prodding at the things he thought he knew. At the feelings he'd buried under a thick pile of denial and worry.

The closed space wasn't doing much to help the case - his brain felt like it was threatening to melt and boil over, so he stopped the car near a patch of clearing next to the road and got out.

He heard a car door opening as George followed him out, standing behind him. He probably didn't know what to do, the stop had been abrupt.

"George..." Clay finally turned around, face unreadable. "You know that's a lot to lay on someone at once who's in a relationship?"

"No, not really. It had to be said." George crossed his arms against his chest defensively. "Plus, I'd prefer it if you could just reject me and tell me you wanna stay friends sooner than later. I think it'd make things easier for me, knowing the answer."

Clay groaned out, frustrated. "But the thing is, George, I don't want to do that." He placed his hands on either of his friend's shoulders, gaze suddenly softening. "But you're kind of throwing me for a loop here. First you say you're interested in being set up, then you say it's fine that I'm dating someone else... I guess what I'm trying to say is, George-"

He was interrupted with his friend grabbing his hands and pulling them off his shoulders, using them to tug Clay toward himself. "You're an idiot if you never saw it coming, Clay. You were so good to me..." He placed the hands on his cheeks, looking up at the man in front of him. "Take what you want from what I said."

But Clay _didn't_ know what to take away from George's little confession. Of course he understood what it meant, even if his friend hadn't outright said he had feelings.

Would this talk have even happened if they had decided to stay home instead? Maybe George had his guard down and was emotionally exhausted, causing him to make confused judgements.

"George, what if you don't actually mean that?" It was a question he needed to ask, to make sure. "What if you change your mind later?" 

"I do mean it, though." A momentary silence hung in the air as they both basked in the sunlight. "Clay, I... This is the surest I've ever been about anything. It's not like it's an afterthought. I've been thinking about it for ages." 

Clay had yet to tell him how he felt. Maybe confessing at this moment would've done more harm than good, taking George's vulnerable state into account - he had recently relived a painful memory on top of not having been in a good place mentally and physically for months. Even though it hurt to even consider it, maybe Clay was right about this. 

"George, I don't think this is a good idea." He watched George's face fall. "And besides, I've never thought about you like that. This is new to me."

A shameless lie. It pained him to see how disappointed George looked, but he didn't show it. Finally, his friend took his hands off of himself, straightening. 

"I get it." Clay wanted to grab him, tell him the truth. Promise him all the things he deserved but never got. Wanted to hold him tight and never let him go and- "I think we should head back."

They sat back in the car. The view was no match for how they felt - the sunlight over vibrant green fields cast everything it touched in warm golden hues, giving even the gray rocks life. It was peaceful. Definitely not what they were at the moment. 

The trip back was silent. It seemed they were both replaying the events of the roadside conversation in their heads. 

Clay was unsure. He convinced himself he'd done the right thing by keeping his distance. Maybe he would've told him about his real feelings if the times were different. If George had been in a better place. The last thing he wanted was to take advantage when his defenses were low. 

George got out of the car as soon as they drove into the parking lot. Clay watched as he hurried away, looking like he wanted to take up as little space as possible. He followed, but by the time he got to the apartment, it was empty with the bedroom door locked. 

Clay slumped into the couch. He had royally messed up. 


	16. Memories

George sat in his chair. The anger he'd initially felt had been replaced by disappointment, then with shame. The vulnerability complex that had been rooted deep into him from childhood was at fault here - he'd opened up about his feelings, and now he was now reaping what he had sowed.

He wondered how Clay was doing. Probably unaffected, sleeping or cooking. Sleep was the last thing on his crowded mind, thoughts and insecurities nagging at him, forcing him to replay the hurt he felt after the rejection.

He'd been basically stewing in his own negative thoughts when a knock sounded at the door. He didn't budge, however, not even fully snapping out of his daze enough to realize someone was in the other side, waiting for an answer.

"George, please." If the knock hadn't done much to get his attention, he was fully alert after hearing the familiar voice. "Let me see you."

Clay sounded hurt. George wanted to be glad, wanted to be satisfied that the man that made him go through so much was feeling the same, but he couldn't. He wanted to throw open that door and jump into his friend's arms, to forgive him in a blink of an eye and pretend nothing had ever happened.

He involuntarily reached out towards the door with his hand. He couldn't muster up enough courage to actually stand up and pull on the knob, so he stayed rooted in place, even as he heard a defeated sigh from the other side of the door and heavy feet shuffling away.

Could be even feel anything? Or was he pretending? As a kid, his mom always used to tell him how desensitized he was. Even though he tried not to take it to heart, deep down, the repeated remark made him believe there was something deeply wrong with him. Maybe he was just broken, and it had always been his destiny to fake emotions and dance around to put on a show for other people's pleasure, like some sort of twisted marionette.

His back was starting to ache from being slumped over in the chair. He got up, burying himself in the pillows in his bed. Being face down like this made it easier to get completely wrapped up in his thoughts - not even a sliver of light could reach his eyes through all the cushions.

Funny thing, how childhood traumas affected him even now, he thought. It was pathetic, letting just a few memories dictate how he lived his life. He was past that, after all, wasn't he? But he found himself returning to the methods he used to comfort himself as a child after he'd witnessed a particularly gnarly fight between his parents, before going to his childhood best friend's funeral, or during something as silly as a loud thunderstorm. And that method was to isolate.

Since he'd never learnt how to deal with his emotions in a healthy way and all he was taught was that no one cared, he deemed it best to not try at all. Instead, he was to tough it out alone before he were back to normal as to not bother anyone. He remembered his mother's voice, still etched so deep into his memory. 

"Shame on you, acting up like that. What's wrong with you? Crying is for little boys."

No one cared about him enough to go out of their way to listen to him blabbing about his problems.

"Me and your dad are busy, honey. Can't you deal with it yourself? You're a big boy, go to your room."

He cringed at the searing words that had marked themselves into his brain, leaving burn marks that always reminded him of what he was. He just wanted someone who cared about him no matter what, who'd go to great lengths to make sure he was okay-

Clay.

He'd care, right? He'd cared up until now, what was one more little bump on the road? There was going to be a lot of those, George thought. Being someone like him, he was doomed to make problems from the start. That's all he did.

"Don't you think you've done enough? Get out of my sight!"

The boiling anger from the previous words was replaced by icy strictness, gliding over his skin with a sharp edge, threatening to dip and cut into the skin.

An image of a little boy hunched over an ornate vase on the floor, smashed to pieces. A surge of panic as he tried to gather up the pieces to make it whole again. Footsteps down the corridor. Difficulty to breathe. Shouting. Crying, apologizing.  
That's all he'd ever done. Be pathetic, break things, apologize. The reactions he got from owning up to the things he did wrong only pushed him towards brushing his wrongdoings off.

A knock on the door.

Silence as George lay face down, unmoving. He was completely cut off from the outside world, enveloped in pitch black.

Another knock, then another. Persistent, hurried requests to be let in.

The sound didn't go away.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Each tap chipped away at George's skull. Slowly, slowly.

The same little boy was under a bed, cowering in fear as he held his tattered doll. Rapid raps on the wood of his door. A hand over his own mouth so he wouldn't breathe too loud. A creak as it slowly opened, the light from the hallway casting an elongated silhouette of a man on the floor in front of the bed.

Distorted, quivering words. Disciplining him, shaming him, blaming him for all he had done, all he had ruined - their lives, dreams, marriage. Hot tears running down his cheeks, down his neck, down, down, down, creating a puddle below him that rose into a sea, crawling up his neck and into his mouth, nose and ears, drowning him.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The words that he heard this time weren't distorted. They were steady and warm, enveloping him in a glowing haze.

"George, please, please open up." A sound of fingers sliding down the door. "Please."

George rolled over, his legs moving on their own. He turned the lock, pulling down the knob above it.

He realized he'd been crying only when a warm hand reached up to wipe the tears away.

"George..." Clay stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. "Hey, George... It's okay."

He felt even more tears roll down his cheeks. Even if he'd been able to make out the face of the man standing in front of him, he couldn't bring himself to look him in the eye.

"I thought... I thought i-it'd be better now." He abruptly stopped, choking back a sob.

The hands on his face couldn't keep up with the flood of tears, so they just gave up, comfortingly holding him instead.

"George, whatever it is... I'm here." Clay wrapped his arms around George's shoulders, fully enveloping him in his hold. "You can talk to me."

"It hurts, Clay. I thought I was over it." He shakily breathed in, wiping at his eyes with the palm of his hands. "The m-memories, they're too much. I-"

He was led to the bed. The comforting softness was too welcoming to pass on, so he sat back on it, the arms of his friend lovingly draping a blanket over him.

"George, I have no idea what memories you're talking about..." The mattress shifted as Clay sat down next to him, hugging George to himself. "It's okay to hurt from things you thought you were over. It happens."

He was wrapped in his friend's arms for what felt like ages. All the while, Clay had been patiently waiting for his breathing to get back to normal.

When it felt like he wasn't being suffocated by his tears anymore, he clutched the arm draped over him.

"Clay... I feel so stupid." All he got as a response was quiet shushing as he was pulled closer. "No, really. I was just thinking of... stuff from when I was a kid. Not a good time, y'know?"

He bitterly chuckled to himself. Understatement of the year. But he didn't want to burden anyone by dishing out all the details of his troubled childhood.

"George. You don't have to downplay it. Just tell me."

He wondered what Clay's face looked like right now. Cute as always, of course, but what would his expression be? Pity? He hated that. Nothing at all? He wasn't sure if he preferred that over the former. He tilted his head back to see a completely different emotion depicted on the face he loved so much - worry.  
His eyebrows were furrowed in concern, eyes darting in between George's, as if they'd give away the answer.

He felt the tears drying on his cheek. He swiped at them with his hand, looking back down to escape the concerned gaze of his friend. 

  
"Well, I didn't just think I was over it, I _should_ have been over it. It's just a bunch of silly memories." His head was spinning from having cried recently, his wet cheeks cold from the air hitting it. "It's stupid. You know, a lot of people have it worse. I shouldn't even-" 

"The fact that others have it worse doesn't make your experiences invalid." He felt a weight on his head as Clay placed his cheek above it, holding him against himself. "If you wanna talk about it, I'm h-"

"I really don't, Clay." 

"I'm here either way." The bed shifted next to George as his friend adjusted his position to make himself more comfortable. "We can just sit in silence. I don't wanna leave you alone right now." 

George leaned back into the warm body of his friend. "You smell nice." Fresh aromas of fruit and vegetables were drifting off him. "Were you cooking?" 

"I was making food for you." He slid his fingers through George's soft hair. "But then I came to the door and I... I heard you crying. So I just rushed in."

George wrapped his arms around the hand holding him. He could feel himself dozing off, everything turning into a blur. 

"Hey, George?" Clay softly asked, peering down at the heavy lidded man in his hold. "I'm gonna let you sleep now." 

He stood up, unwrapping himself from his friend, but the grasp on his arm stayed firm. 

"Please stay." 

Clay got into bed as George laid back into the layer of cushions he'd been crying in before. He turned over, pulling George against his chest again.

George finally felt at peace. Whatever was going to come tomorrow, he'd deal with it. One step at a time, he reminded himself, and snuggled closer to his friend. 


	17. Morning

Clay woke up to a pitch black room. One of the blinds had been pulled up, and he could see the starless night sky out of the window. He patted his pocket, checking for his phone. No luck.

The only sounds in the room were George's soft breathing, accompanied by the steady rise and fall of his chest. Clay smiled to himself. He pushed a stray lock of hair that had fallen onto George's forehead off, allowing him to fully view his face. He looked so calm for someone who had been through so much. 

The wind outside rustled the leaves of the trees standing around the building. He slowly slid off the bed, careful not to wake George, and walked over to the window, his bare feet padding against the wooden floor.

He cracked it open a little, the cool breeze alleviating the stuffiness of the small bedroom. This had probably the first time he'd seen the window open in the room, or the blinds up. He pulled it open a little wider, the refreshing air hitting him in the face. 

A ding from the other side of the room. A text message popped up on the phone he'd left on George's table earlier. He walked over, picking it up. A text from Rose. 

_________

Rosie 💘

Hey Clay you doing anything right now? :*  
You up for a drink? 

_________

Clay sighed. If he went out and then George woke up, he'd have to tell him he'd been out with Rose. Now that he knew how his friend felt about him, that was going to be way more difficult. 

But that wasn't the only reason holding him back. He looked back at the bed, then at the phone. Only one of those people made him smile. He only felt his heart flutter and his head swim when looking at one of them. He only wanted one of them in his future.

He put the phone down on the windowsill, getting back into bed. He wrapped his arms around George, sinking into the warm embrace of sleep. 

__________

A clear and radiant sky was peeking through the open window in between the lifeless gray walls. The immense beauty of something so simple made George's breath hitch. He couldn't even remember the last time he took a moment to stand back and appreciate his surroundings. 

He tried to slide out of bed to close the window out of habit, only to be stopped by arms wrapping around him, pulling him back. 

"Where you going?" The raspy voice in his ear made goosebumps run down George's spine. 

He turned over to look at the man next to him in the eye. "You know, you didn't have to stay overnight. I wouldn't have noticed if you left." He smiled. "Thanks." 

Clay reached up to smooth his hair back. He relished the feeling of fingers running through his strands before it was gone. His friend propped himself up on his elbow, looking at him from above. 

"You talk in your sleep." George's heart skipped a beat in fear of what he'd said - hopefully nothing regarding what had happened. "Something about apples, not too sure." 

George smiled, secretly relieved. "You ready to get up?" 

"Ugh, fine." If George hadn't been sure that his friend wasn't an early bird from the hour he was usually up to record videos, he was now. 

Right. He'd forgotten all about his channel during the commotion. He stood up, shooting one last look at Clay. 

"Hey, Clay?" A hum from the bed, signaling him to go on. "What have you been doing about your YouTube channel? I'd hate for you to miss uploads... because of me." 

"Don't worry about it." He finally stood up from bed, stretching. "I have a bunch of pre-recorded videos." 

Clay left the room, George following behind. He watched as his friend picked out a hoodie from his suitcase and started to take off his shirt. 

"Woah, woah, what are you doing?" George stammered, visibly panicked. He probably would've loved to see Clay shirtless a day ago, but he wanted to avoid that at all costs now. 

Clay had fully pulled off his shirt when he turned around. "I dunno, changing?" 

George wordlessly tried to head back into his room and wait it out until his friend was done. A confused voice mixed with amusement called out to him. 

"George? Where are you going?" 

He decided it'd be weird either way. Might as well explain. "Clay... I-" He fumbled with his clothes to find anything to fidget with. Another nervous habit he'd picked up as a child. "I don't know why you'd do... that around me." 

Clay still had the same confused look plastered on his face that George just wanted to smack off. Or replace it by a surprised look with a kiss. Either way, he hated that he was doing his best to put his feelings into words and it wasn't enough. Thanks for the lack of practice, mom and dad. 

"Tsk, George..." He leveled his gaze with George's, making him want to shrivel up and die right there in that spot. "Just because I know you have... an interest in me... doesn't mean I'm uncomfortable with changing in front of you." 

George shut his eyes as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "No, Clay. _I'm_ uncomfortable! I can't... just stick around and risk catching more feelings that I know will never be reciprocated." 

Clay looked thoughtful. "How do you know they'll never be reciprocated?" 

"Don't-" George choked out. "Don't give me hope. That's the worst thing you could do!" 

Clay closed the distance between them in a couple of strides. When George felt his touch, though, he flinched instead of feeling the usual goosebumps. He pushed the hands off, looking up at his friend. Who was still shirtless. 

"George..." God, he loved it so much when his name came out of Clay's mouth. "I just didn't think it was the right place and time for a confession. Not that this moment is any better, but..." 

George felt tears stinging his eyes, threatening to roll and show his friend yet another moment of weakness. He knew Clay liked to joke around, but surely he wouldn't overstep the line of playing with his feelings, right? 

"You mean so much to me, George. I've had a crush on you for..." He took a deep breath. "For a while now. But I don't think you're in the right mindspace for a relationship right now." 

George bitterly chuckled. "It's okay, Clay, you can just say I'm fucked up and you don't want me." He stepped back. 

Clay closed the distance again, his voice pleading. "No, George, that's not what I meant. I just-" 

"You don't have to walk on eggshells around me, Clay!" George's fuming voice was a complete opposite of his face, covered in tears. "I know what I am, and I know what you think of me." 

"George, I don't know what you _think_ you know, but you're my best friend. Plain and simple. I'd never do anything to hurt you." 

"Yet you do!" Clay was starting to blur through the tears, which made confrontation easier. Or maybe more severe, since the face that always calmed him down was just a smudged speck now. "You _always_ hurt me! Every passing second, every time you pick her over me, every time I wake up and you're not there!" 

From what he could see, Clay was still standing in his spot, hands out defensively. He blinked down the tears welled in his eyes, letting them roll down. 

"But I _was_ there with you this morning. And I didn't pick her over you, George." His voice was soft and unreasonably comforting to George. It would've lulled him to sleep, if it wasn't for the pit of boiling and bubbling mess of emotions inside of him. 

"Wow, you're _such_ a great friend. Want a prize for staying a night?" Each one of his venomous words seemed like they were gut punches to Clay. He looked small, with his shoulders slumped. "And for fuck's sake, put a shirt on!" 

Clay did as told, taking slow steps toward George. He felt like an escaped wild animal, being taken back to captivity by a caretaker that was afraid it was going to attack. 

Was Clay _afraid_ of him? 

The images of his childhood flashed in front of his eyes yet again. How he cowered in fear, huddled against the wall under his bed. How he would almost pass out from breathlessness after crying for hours on end. How his hands used to shake all the time from the constant stress. But now, the roles were switched. He was becoming the thing he hated the most. His parents. 

"Oh, god..." His voice changed from enraged to quivering in a matter of seconds. "I'm so sorry, Clay." 

He finally allowed his friend to get close enough to hold him in his embrace. A comforting arm wrapped around his back, pulling him close. 

George's apologies were brushed off by a hand on his cheek, pulling up his face to meet Clay's eyes. 

"George, _I'm_ sorry." He placed a soft kiss on his forehead, sighing. "We're both such a mess."


	18. Trust Issues

George was sitting in his bedroom, replaying the memories of their fight over and over in his head like a broken record. He could still feel the phantom touch of Clay's lips gliding across his forehead. He absentmindedly ran his fingers along it.

The sky was gray and dull, just like the first day he'd moved here. At least, back then, there'd been rain, a sign of life over the blank canvas of endlessness.

He didn't feel any better than he did just after the fight. Instead, dread had settled in, nesting deep inside as a heavy pit in his stomach, weighing down on him. He spun around in his chair, mind running loops around the same question it had been plagued by for a while now.

Why had Clay been leading him into a wild goose chase if he'd had feelings for him for some time now? He wasn't the type of person to get off on this, and neither was George. It was frankly distressing. 

First, Clay had torn down the walls George had worked so hard to build up. Then, he unknowingly tormented him by actively avoiding to act on the reciprocated feelings. Or maybe he knew. Maybe Clay _was_ the type to get off on this. Had he known all along and kept George in the dark, getting a kick out of every time he saw his friend squirm from a simple touch? He had nothing but blind trust to contradict that.

He could hear the hustle and bustle from the kitchen. Clay had gone back to normal since the fight, acting like they'd made up and everything was fine. Well, they _had_ made up, but things were the farthest thing from fine to George - the sudden confession had blown in like a gust of wind and stirred up the weightless flakes of denial he'd worked so hard to lay down.

He probably wouldn't have believed it if he knew how disappointed he'd feel after Clay confessed his feelings for him. Past George would probably be dancing with joy upon hearing those words come out of his friend's mouth.

But the present George... He had to make sure he wasn't just making it up in his head - Clay _had_ reverted back to normal, right? He stood up and headed towards the kitchen with determined strides.

"Hey Clay." He greeted his friend who was chopping something up on the counter.

"Hey, George." Dry, emotionless. None of the passion he'd expect him to have in his voice after having confessed to his crush.

But what if Clay _didn't_ have feelings? What if, after seeing what a pathetic mess George was, he was pitiful and decided to give him hope? A tiny speck of light to keep him going at his worst, when he was about to give up traversing the dark tunnel. An even bigger pit settled in, gnawing at him from inside, threatening to swallow him whole. 

He had to know. If he didn't, they'd keep going back and forth forever, never getting closure. He'd probably implode from the anticipation of the next little touch, the next accidental brush of hands while passing each other something. 

"Clay, we need to talk." Clay was taking his sweet time to put everything down and turn around. "Right now." 

The sudden change of tone wiped the aloof expression from his friend's face. He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter behind him. The pose reminded him of the day of the blind date, and he hoped this one would end better. 

"What's wrong, George?" Same dry tone. No emotions whatsoever. 

" _What's wrong_ is that you're acting like our talk never happened." George hoisted himself up on the nearest counter. "You've confessed. I've confessed. I don't know what's in the way." 

Clay sighed, looking down. "I already told you, George. I don't think you're i-" 

"In the right headspace, blah blah." George rolled his eyes mockingly. "But you have to actually _explain."_

"Fine. What I meant by that is..." He paused for a long moment, seemingly unsure if he should continue. "You're... not thinking straight right now. And I don't want you to end up doing something that-" 

He cut himself off before he could continue. He refused to meet George's eyes, keeping them drawn downwards. 

George beckoned him to continue, curiosity gnawing at him despite the potential disappointment that would follow those words. 

"You know I got out of a pretty serious relationship because of... cheating issues. I guess I just lost trust after that." Clay fidgeted with the fabric of his hoodie. "And I... I don't want you to do the same thing as she did." 

A sharp pang of emotions prodding at every inch of his body. Little needles of familiar anger, hurt, disappointment poking every crevice. Clay may as well have grabbed the kitchen knife laying next to him and driven it straight into George's chest, and it wouldn't have hurt any more. He could've ripped his heart out and punted it across the room, and he wouldn't have felt the same pain. 

"So, you didn't actually care about what I'd feel. You were looking out for yourself all along. And for what?" He spat the venomous words right at Clay. "For what? The fear that I'd... go and fuck someone else?" 

A small, defeated sigh followed by a weak nod. George, on the other hand, felt enraged. All this time, lost, for nothing. All the pain and mind games he'd put himself through, for a stupid reason that didn't even have a right to exist. 

"Look, George, putting it into words..." Clay was biting the inside of his cheek. So George wasn't the only one with nervous habits, after all. "It sounds so stupid. But it sounded so... scary in my head. I couldn't even think about that risk." 

"So what, you never attempted anything at all?" He clenched his hands, knuckle turning white. "You just sat there, with no regard for anyone else but yourself?" 

"It's not like that, George. Please, listen-" 

"No, _you_ listen to _me!_ All this time, you had me believing you were the good guy. All high and mighty." He dug his nails into the palms of his hands. "But you had your own best interests in mind all along, didn't you?" 

Clay suddenly stood up straight, glowering. "You're not the only one with issues, George!" He turned his back, facing towards the kitchen exit. "And you have no right to downplay mine." 

With that, he headed towards the front door, grabbing his suitcase on the way. He unlocked it before darting out. George flinched while he waited for the door to slam, but it never came. It was shut with a soft click, instead. Somehow that made him feel even worse. 

A new ingredient had been added to the boiling, swirling mess of emotions - guilt. George wanted to just shrivel up and die from the amount of pure _joy_ he felt. He slid off the counter and down onto the floor, bringing his knees up to his chest. 

Clay was right, even if he didn't want to admit it. He'd opened up about his trust issues, and George did nothing but disregard it and bring his own problems into the mix, shining the spotlight on them instead. He contemplated going after him, but his legs felt like jelly and he doubted he could run down the stairs even if he tried. 

Where was Clay even going? He didn't have a hotel booked since he'd been staying at George's place. He didn't have any close friends in this city either to stay with them instead-

Rose. 

He'd never officially ended things with her, just brushed it off to standby. If Clay was actually with Rose, they were going to have a whole new thing to fight about. 

He waited until he could collect himself, pushed himself up and glanced around the kitchen. Two bowls had been laid out in front of a cutting board with fresh veggies on it. There was a packet of rice sitting next to the bubbling pot of water on the stove, with different spices gathered around it. 

More guilt. Clay had been cooking for the two of them. He turned off the stove and headed into the bedroom.   
He'd focus on finding Clay and apologizing tomorrow, but he had to rest at the moment. Confrontation drained him like no other activity, and he'd just had a hell of a fight with his favorite person. 

He made a mental note to himself to somehow find Rose's address and check her place, then try to make up with Clay. That was going to be a difficult task, but he'd cross that bridge when he got to it. Or rather, burn that bridge and everything on it.   
He hoped it would be the former. 


	19. Chapter 19

The first thing George did the next morning was look up Rose's account on social media. It wasn't too hard, just time consuming. He had forgotten to remove Stephen from his friends' list after their break up a year ago, so all he had to do was look through all of the Roses he had in his. 

He had his fingers crossed that Rose was stupid enough to put her address in her bio. He scrolled through the abundant list of information she was basically handing out to strangers - her phone number, place of work, birthday... And address. Bingo. 

George jotted down the street name and the building number, quickly throwing on a change of clothes and running to the apartment.

It probably would've taken him ages to get the right door if he hadn't spotted the tenant information leaflet by the front desk in the building lobby. He started from the bottom up, regretting the decision when he found out that Rose lived at the very top of the building. He called the elevator, pressing the button for the 8th floor once inside. 

He knocked on the apartment with the same number that was written in the leaflet. A few moments passed before a familiar face opened the door. He was hoping it'd be Clay, but Rose was a good start. Even if he wanted her grimy hands off his best friend. 

"...George?" She seemed puzzled. She had no make up on and was wearing baggy sweatpants. So her and Clay were at _that_ relationship stage. Even further in than he'd thought. 

"Hi, yeah, uh, Rose." George realized he hadn't actually thought about how weird his request was going to sound. "I need to speak to Clay." 

She narrowed her eyes. "Uh, okay?" But she stayed in the same spot, not moving. 

George cleared his throat. If she was going to be passive aggressive, then so be it. "I _said_ I need to talk to Clay. Please. It's urgent." 

"I thought he was staying with you." She raised her eyebrow. 

"So he's not here?" Desperation set in as Rose shook her head. "Any idea where he might be?" 

The panic must have been apparent in his voice, since Rose pitifully shook her head again. She apologized before closing the door, but George didn't really notice or hear anything. He was frozen in place, with no new leads to follow. 

He pulled up his phone, opting to text Clay to ask him to meet up. It would be risky, sure, but he had no other choice but to try his luck and hope for the best. 

________

George

Hey Clay please answer  
!!!!!!!   
I'M SORRY  
Can we meet please I wanna apologize

________

He sat down on the stairs right in front of Rose's apartment as he waited, not finding much use in doing anything else.

He breathlessly waited for that little ding, or a call, or anything that let him know that Clay had received his message and wanted to talk. He stared at the screen as a little 'Read' popped up below his messages, alongside with bubbles indicating that Clay was typing.

It went away as fast as it appeared, though, and George was left to stare at the texting app once more. He ran his thumb over the contact name, softly, longingly, like the way he wished he had the courage to do to with Clay. 

He waited ten minutes. Then another ten. He sat there, doing absolutely nothing, minutes blurring together. After half an hour had passed, he stood up and headed down to the lobby again. 

He felt defeated. Disappointment had been such a prominent feeling in his life lately that he wished he could just erase it from existence. 

  
He didn't even realize how he entered the empty apartment and threw himself onto the couch. Maybe Clay just needed some time, and he'd come back soon. George had nothing but blind hope to rely on that, though.   
He pulled out his phone, staring at his friend's contact name. 

His finger tentatively hovered over the call button. The chances of him answering the phone after ignoring the text messages were slim, but it was all he had left. 

Nothing but the dial tone in the deafening silence. He closed his eyes, still hanging onto that thread of hope, when the monotone beeping was interrupted by a shuffle and nothing else. 

"Hello, Clay?" George desperately clung onto the phone. "Clay, please. I'm so sorry." 

No words, but the other line seemed noisy. Like he was in a public space. 

"Hi, George..." His voice was weak, defeated. Almost like he didn't want to be speaking. "I thought it'd be best if I talked to you before I left." 

"Left? You already did that." George nervously giggled. "I wanna apologize. In person. Can we meet? 

A sigh. "I don't think so, George. My flight's leaving in twenty minutes." 

Blood ran cold in George's veins. "Your _flight?!_ I thought the time didn't even run out on your visa for another five months!" 

"It didn't run out. George..." George tightly gripped his phone, pressing it to his ear. He couldn't believe the words coming out of it. "I just don't think... either of us are fit to be together. We've had so many fights on our issues instead of understanding them. Isn't that what we both wanted? Acceptance? Anyways... I'm gonna go back to America. I think it'd be for the best if we pretended this never happened. Goodbye, George. I'll miss you. "

"Clay please wai-" Click.

George whined, cursing under his breath. He threw his phone to the other end of the couch, like it was the one causing so much pain. 

He'd never see Clay again. That was the last time he'd hear his voice. Or was it? He hadn't left yet. Maybe George could make it in time-

He jumped up, grabbing his phone and car keys, darting out the door and down into the parking lot. The nearest airport was a twenty minute drive, but maybe if he sped up... 

He sped through the roads, actively avoiding the jams. The traffic was luckily pretty scarce, but he spotted a big blockage at the intersection up ahead. The airport building was right there in front of it. It'd take ages to get through. 

Without thinking, he parked the car off to the side of the road and made a mad dash for it. By the time he was through the doors, he was struggling for breath, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. He doubled over, gasping for air, but quickly resumed his search. 

The time on his phone read 12:17 AM. He had 3 minutes left. He ran for the seats lined up near the departure gate, swerving around clusters of people that looked at him like he was insane. He stood in the middle of the airport building, looking around, desperately trying to spot his friend.

He saw a person in a green hoodie and, without thinking, made a bee line for them. They were standing with their back to George, so he tried to get their attention.

"Clay!" The person turned around, giving him a weird look. It was a middle aged lady.

"George?" The voice came from behind him instead of the front. He instantly recognized it.

"Clay, oh my god." He slowly turned around, facing the man he'd gone through so much emotional turmoil to find. "You idiot. Do you know what a stupid thing you did?"

He wrapped his arms around Clay's neck, resting his head against his chest. A hand came down to run through his hair as another wrapped around his body.

"What are you doing here?" George felt how the fingers on the back of his head slowed and Clay drew back to look him in the eye. "I didn't want you to make me rethink."

"So you _did_ rethink?!"

"Seeing you here makes it awfully difficult not to... but I still stand by my point, George." Clay sighed, suddenly refusing to meet his gaze. "I don't think we'd be a good fit."

This time, George didn't feel disappointment. He didn't feel hurt, angry, or sad. He was done feeling those things, opting for something he'd wanted to do for a long time.

"I'll show you 'not a good fit'."

He took the fabric of his friend's hoodie in his fists, closing his eyes and tugging him down into a kiss. An arm instantly snaked around his waist, pulling him close, a hand returning to its former position threading through the hair. Clay pulled back.

"George, I'd love to continue, but... people are looking, and I don't feel like getting kicked out for public indecency." He looked down at the man in his arms with a sweet smile. "This is the best idea you've ever had."

George gave him a final quick peck, interlacing their fingers together. "Get that stupid suitcase of yours, we're going home."


	20. Returning Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW warning! You can skip this chapter if you feel uncomfortable with that sort of stuff. The story picks up as normal after it.

The drive home was shorter than George liked. Neither of them really knew what to say, though, and it was spent in silence.

As soon as they entered the apartment and George locked the door behind him, he was pushed against a wall.

Clay stood towering above him, blocking his escape. Not that George really wanted to escape - this moment had been relentlessly haunting his thoughts, not giving him a break even in his sleep.

Clay had been a mere thought plaguing his dreams up until now - an unattainable objective he constantly strived for. He'd been a torture to love, constantly slipping from George's fingers like sand when he thought they were getting close.

He felt his friend lean in. They were so close that he could smell a pleasant fragrance on him. It made him entranced, dazed. His head swirled and the only thing he wanted in the world was another kiss.

There was barely anything illuminating them in the dark apartment, bathing them in soft shadows. George snapped out of his haze, tugging at the hairs on the back of Clay's head and pulling him down.

Their lips met again, but this time it was more passionate. It heated up into a sizzling, burning kiss as it advanced. George felt a hand ride up under the fabric of his shirt. The fingers running across the bare skin of his body sent electricity prickling in every direction.

He threw his arms around Clay's shoulders as he was lifted off the ground and pressed against the wall. He wrapped his legs around the body holding him close to support himself, not once stopping or drawing back for air.

George desperately clung to Clay to steady himself. The world around him was swaying, making him feel intoxicated. Nothing existed besides them at the moment, so he allowed himself to lose his surroundings as he sunk deeper into the kiss.

An urgent sense of wanting was standing behind the soft caress of their lips. George felt it in the way Clay tugged at his clothes, pressing closer into him. It made his head spin and his face heat up, knowing just how much of an effect he was having on the man in front of him.

He pulled back from the kiss, panting for air. He watched Clay's flushed face, gasping for breath, but soon diving down to kiss a trail down his neck. He took his shirt, tossing it to the side with disregard.

The lack of clothes covering him from the lustful eyes of the man in front of him made him feel vulnerable. It was an exciting feeling, like experiencing something for the first time. The surge of mixed emotions rushed through his veins, snapping him out of his daze.

He hurriedly pulled Clay's hoodie off, admiring the view he thought he'd never see again. It was incredible, how unlikely he'd thought this moment was in the past. He believed the taste of Clay's lips against his and the warmth enveloping him, pushing him up against the wall in an urgency would forever be a figment of his imagination.

He felt small kisses and bites haphazardly trailing from his neck, down to his chest. It seemed as if the person giving them couldn't control himself. How his friend completely lost his composure at a mere touch made his heart race. 

He leaned into the touch, wrapping his arms around him as he felt teeth gently grazing his collarbones. He gasped out when they brushed over a particularly sensitive spot, gripping his fingers tighter around the locks of the hair they were threaded in.

Clay seemed to notice this, returning to it over and over again with gentle bites and kisses. They were only amplified tenfold, though, as he kept taking advantage of the newfound spot to draw out quiet moans from George.

He was pulled off the wall, now being fully supported by Clay. He wrapped himself around his body, letting himself be carried to the bedroom. The man towered over him as he was lowered onto the bed.

Clay pulled down his pants and boxers, fumbling with George's to do the same. Once off, they were thrown to the side, discarded just like the clothes at the entrance.

His breath hitched as he gazed up into the eyes above him. His heart skipped a beat at how exposed he felt. They met each other halfway for another kiss, this time soft and loving.

The weight on the bed shifted as Clay climbed on top, towering over him. The arms next to each side of his head pinned him in place. He drew his legs up, wrapping them around Clay, silently urging him to dip down.

He grabbed a small bottle from the bottom drawer of his nightstand, holding it out to Clay, who took it.

"George, this is my first time, you know..." He sounded unsure. "With a guy."

"You're gonna do fine, Clay." George reassuringly smiled as he pressed one final kiss onto the man's lips.

He parted his legs as Clay squeezed a glob onto his fingers. He nodded at him to keep going, feeling a cold wetness enter him.

George took his hand, guiding his movements. Soon enough, Clay got the hang of it, adding another finger into the mix, sliding them in and out excruciatingly slowly.

"You know, you could speed it up a little." George had his head thrown back in pleasure. There were only two fingers in him, and yet, there was something so stimulating at how he was being teased.

A third finger was added, the movements gradually picking up pace.

"Tell me when you're ready." Clay glanced at George biting his lip to keep from moaning out. He added a fourth finger in, pumping even faster. 

George urgently nodded, tightly gripping the bedsheets. "I'm ready."

Clay covered himself in the liquid, stroking up and down the length. The action kindled a flame deep inside of George, begging to be satiated. He did all he could to stop himself from jumping on Clay as he positioned himself at the entrance.

He groaned out as soon as he felt it enter. He desperately fumbled for something to clutch to fight the overtaking senses, but he quickly gave up, melting into a mess of pants and moans.

Once Clay was fully inside, he slowly drew back, slamming back in. George screamed out, clawing at the sheets under him. He grabbed one of the pillows to bite into it as Clay kept brushing over a spot that made him go insane.

He felt the movements abruptly stop, though. The pillow was pulled back from his face.

"I want to see your face." Clay threw it to the side, looking him in the eye. "I want to hear you scream out my name and beg for more. I've thought about this moment for a long time now."

He returned to his former position, this time making eye contact as he slowly pushed in and out. There was something so arousing to George about the naked gaze in between the two of them.

Clay pulled out, placing George on top of him as he sat up against the headboard. He slowly lowered him down again, this time being able to enter much deeper.

George was a bit taller this way, sitting in Clay's lap. He pushed himself up and down, firmly held in place with hands gripping his waist.

He leaned in and buried his head in the nook of Clay's neck as the pace sped up, unable to contain himself from clawing against his back. His fingers scratched a trail down the spine of the body he held onto like some sort of buoy in the midst of an ocean, clutching onto it like the only escape.

His breath hitched as he felt a familiar warmth pool in his stomach. Clay panted as his fingers dug into George's sides, speeding up.

George pulled his head back, making eye contact again. He bit his lip, tugging Clay closer and giving him a rough kiss. It was reciprocated, giving him yet another sense to get lost in.

The warmth grew after a few moments until he felt a pressure, begging to be released. 

Clay drew back from the kiss. "I'm close." He spoke in between pants, breathless from both the kiss and the pleasure.

George leaned in, placing another quick kiss and leaning his forehead against Clay's. The rhythmic groans sped up as the pace quickened even more.

"George, I'm-" George wrapped his legs tight around Clay, feeling him finish inside. The sense was the last push he needed over the edge as he sprayed white liquid all over their stomachs.

He slowly pulled off, grabbing a towel from the side of the bed and cleaning both of them up.

After that, he sunk into Clay's arms, held in warm embrace. A kiss was placed against his forehead as he pulled a blanket over their bodies.

Feeling exhausted, both of them sunk into deep sleep.


	21. Impromptu Night Out

It was dark out when George stirred from sleep. Strong arms were wrapped around him, holding him close. He tilted his head back to look at Clay's face.

All the emotion was wiped from it as he rested, deep into slumber. George reached up to brush his fingers across his cheek. 

He huddled close to the warm body next to him, letting the evening daze take over him as his heavy eyelids drooped down.

_________

Clay was sitting in an abandoned church building, playing cards with a rat. He pretended not to notice it slyly sneaking views at his deck, deciding to let him win.

They were about to go for another hand when a horrible buzzing sound took over the cathedral as a giant bee flew in. It took off its top hat and sat down, never stopping its buzzing.

"You might want to wake up now, Clay." He picked up a few cards, holding them up in its tiny insect hands.

A disembodied voice sounded around the three, making them look up to search for the source. The echos bounced off the walls and around the hall.

"Clay..." A soft kiss was pressed against his cheek, but no one was there. He only felt a fleeting touch before it disappeared.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them back up, he was in a bedroom, holding George in his arms.

A phone was buzzing on the nightstand next to him, face down. He grabbed it to look at the caller ID, George curiously keeping an eye on the screen as well.

__________

Rosie 💘

Incoming call

Decline Accept

_________

He accepted the call and put it on speaker, signaling to George to be quiet. He felt his arm being clutched tight as he answered.

"Hello?" Clay pulled George closer to his chest, smiling.

"Yay, he answered! I told you he'd answer." An indescernible man's voice came from the other line. "Clay, me and Stephen are right outside your apartment door, we're all gonna go clubbing!"

Clay glanced over to George. He had an eyebrow raised, but upon spotting Clay's gaze, he shrugged.

"...O-okay?" An excited squeal came at his reply. This time the voice was so loud he could hear it, barely audible, coming from outside the apartment door.

He hung up, sighing. Good thing he hadn't given Rose a spare key to the apartment, or she would've walked in on one hell of a scene.

Sudden realization hit him. "Fuck, George. I'm my ex now, aren't I?"

"Clay... You guys were going out for what, a few days?" George tugged at his face to make him look down at him. "And you weren't even exclusive. Chill."

Clay turned over to his side to press a kiss to George's forehead. "Yeah, you're right. But I'm still gonna break it off with her tonight."

"Is that why you accepted?"

Clay hummed. "Yeah, I kinda wanted to do it in person."

They both slowly got up, retrieving the clothes they'd carelessly strewn around last night. Piece by piece, they got dressed, and headed for the front door.

None of them reached out to open it. Clay already knew why George was reluctant and he felt extremely selfish for dragging him out with Stephen. He made a mental note to himself not to let him out of sight.

But he didn't want to leave the comfort of the apartment - his home. It felt as if he was leaving a cocoon of encompassing warmth to head out into a blistering cold, even on a warm spring night.

He hesitantly reached out his hand, turning the key in the lock. Giddy chatter instantly poured into the apartment as soon as he cracked the door open.

A woman jumped on him, and he unenthusiastically put one arm on her back. He sneaked a glance at George over her shoulder, who was looking back at him affectionately.

"Ready to head out, boys?" She cheered, almost making Clay plug his ears and kick her back out the way she came to get back into bed, but he had to do what needed to be done.

At their collective nods, she darted down the stairs, the three following behind.

Stephen refused to walk alongside the two of them or even acknowledge their presence. He strolled on ahead, not bothering to even look over and greet them.

George seemed to take advantage of the situation, though. He slipped an arm through Clay's, leaning his head against his shoulder.

He only lifted it when they stepped out into the cool night air. Rose was bounding around on the walkway, unable to contain her excitement. She threaded her fingers through Clay's, standing in George's former spot.

He frequently sneaked glances over at Stephen and George. Everything seemed to be in order, he just had to endure the sweet talk and constant touches from Rose, and do what he had planned.

Muted club music was already coming from around the block. Clay wondered how much louder it would be inside, since it was already audible at such a distance.

He checked up on George again, only to find him frozen up in place. He resumed walking shortly after, but his eyes remained wide and glossed over.

Clay decided to find out what was wrong once inside, continuing to walk after being urgently pulled by his arm.

The four of them stood side by side a crowded nightclub with flashing neon signs and a colorful board that read "Free Drinks For The Night!"

He immediately recognized the building. Rose smiled at him, tightening her fingers around his hand. Was she mocking them?


	22. Talk

Clay looked at Rose, then back at the building. After not noticing even a shift in her expression, he glanced over at Stephen.

He found him staring right back with a smile spread wide over his face. It didn't reach his eyes, though, making Clay feel unsettled.

Stephen wrapped an arm around George's shoulder and cooed to him in mock concern. "Aww, what's wrong? You look like you could use a drink."

George seemed to be in a different place, a thousand emotions dancing around on his face. First it was mixed and unreadable, then it gradually shifted to anger.

It wasn't obvious, but Clay could tell by the way George bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to hide it. He stepped to the side to try to shrug Stephen's arm off, but it didn't budge, as if it was firmly glued to his hoodie.

Clay decided to intervene, walking over to stand in between them. "Come on, man, let's head inside." 

George seemed a lot less uncomfortable once he felt a familiar presence next to him. He solemnly nodded, shuffling in after them.

The blaring music and the obnoxious neon lights instantly overwhelmed Clay. Stephen attempted to drag George to the dance floor, but once he spotted Clay watching him like a hawk, he resigned and left by himself.

Rose was trying to tell him something, but he couldn't make out her voice over the noises no matter how much she raised it. Finally, she took her arm and pulled him over to the bar.

Clay decided it wouldn't hurt to have some free alcohol before dumping someone, so he gave in and ordered the most bizzarre looking drinks.

He slowly sipped his cocktail while keeping an eye on George. He was standing in the middle of the club, looking lost and confused, like a deer in the headlights, when he got approached by a tall man.

It seemed as if they knew each other, exchanging small talk. Both of them were unusually good at reading lips in loud music, it appeared. As the conversation went on, however, George deflected him and joined Clay and Rose at the bar.

He could tell how pale George was even as colorful spotlights danced across his face. His lips were set into a slight frown, making Clay want to get him out of this place and hold him for as long as it took to make it better.

On second thought, he doubted a club blasting deafeningly loud music was a suitable place for having a mature conversation about him and Rose going their separate ways. He would've asked her to follow him to a more secluded spot to chat, but he didn't want to abandon George.

There was also the topic of why they'd come here - was it a pure coincidence, a genuine request to hang out, or was it a spiteful plan to throw them off?

He doubted Rose had played a part in the whole ordeal - she wasn't the sort of ill-natured person to pull a stunt like this. Despite that, a speck of doubt still lingered in the back of his mind.

After a while, he decided enough was enough. He was about to stand up and ask Rose to follow him outside when they got approached by another man, with similar features - tall, white, dirty blonde. 

George sat, flustered, doing his best to keep a neutral expression on his face. He was obviously trying to cut the conversation short, occasionally sneaking glances at Clay when he thought he wouldn't see.

The man left as well, and Clay finally managed to get them all to go outside. George seemed hesitant about butting in their business, so he tracked them from a small distance.

Just as they were out of the doorway, they were interrupted again. This time by a hulking figure with extremely refined features. He also had light hair and a considerable amount of height, making Clay draw a parallel between the three. It wasn't enough to make a conclusion, though, the connection still fuzzy.

He nodded at George, signaling to him that he was about to have 'the talk'. He saw him nod back, sitting down on the curb and pulling out his phone. It seemed as if he wanted something to distract him from all the commotion behind him.

Clay led Rose far enough away so that they were able to talk over the music. He started to look for something to fidget with while he looked for words, suddenly nervous.

"So, uh, Rose." He looked up to see her watching with an expectant gaze. "I don't think we should see each other anymore."

Blunt. Straight to the point. He hoped there was enough alcohol in her system to soften the blow, but he was proven wrong by the fall of her expression.

She blinked once, then twice. Neither of them said a word. After a moment of silence, she opened her mouth, only to close it again.

"Look, Rose, I'm sorry, but-"

She chuckled to herself, shaking her head. "This is about George, isn't it?"

Clay stared at her dumbfounded. The sudden change in tone had been odd, but not unexpected. He felt as she'd kept her knowledge as a little secret, veiled under all that sickly sweet talk. 

"Clay... I'm not stupid." She narrowed her eyes, flashing him what loosely resembled a smile. The same uncanny expression as he'd seen on Stephen's face back at the club. "Stephen told me everything. You want to know what George really did on his first two months in town?"

It was Clay's turn to wordlessly stare now as Rose spoke. She radiated such confidence and determination that he couldn't help but listen.

"Well, I'll tell you, Clay." She held up her manicured hand, pushing her index finger down. "One. He slept with Stephen-"

"Why is that a bad thing?" Deep down Clay knew he had interrupted to stall for time. Whatever Rose knew, it would indefinitely warp his perception of his best friend.

"Let me finish. And do you know what name he moaned out?" She kept her steely gaze trained on Clay, making him shift in his spot. "Yours. What a little freak, am I right?"

Clay stood with his brows furrowed. There was no way to know what Rose was saying was the truth, and out of the two of them, he trusted George's word over hers.

"I don't believe you."

She raised her eyebrows. "Hah! Really? And whose word do you trust more, Clay..."

She threw him a contemptuous look. He wondered what other dirty secret she had up her sleeve. Whatever it was, she wouldn't hesitate to air it out.

"Your mentally unstable friend..." She continued before Clay could lash out to defend George. "Or my brother Stephen?"


	23. Confrontation

"Your brother. Your..." Clay narrowed his eyes. "Your brother Stephen?"

She crossed her arms, as if she was challenging him. To what, he wasn't exactly sure, but he felt unknown emotions rising to his chest, tightening it.

"And all those nights he went clubbing alone, Clay. Do you know whose name he moaned with all of the men he got with?" She gave him a lopsided smirk. "Yours!"

Gears were turning in his head. The alcohol made it difficult to think clearly, clouding his judgement.

"How do you know that?"

"My brother _owns_ that club, Clay! So, George's little visits didn't really go unnoticed." He stood unmoving, trying to gather up enough brainpower to process what words were coming out of Rose's mouth. "Too bad you had to intervene before he could take him home."

Clay's emotions might have been a confusing mess before, but pure, unfiltered rage started to settle in, crawling up his body.

"That was _him?"_ He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms, trying to contain himself, but to no avail. "That was your fucking _brother?!"_

Rose seemed to know Clay wouldn't physically lash out, so she leaned against a wall as she nonchalantly smiled. "Problem?"

Two pairs of footsteps neared closer, stopping behind Clay. He instantly turned around, coming to face with George. And Stephen, standing there with a smug grin plastered all over his face.

He had a ton of questions regarding George already swarming his brain, so he decided he'd deal with that later. He turned around, seething, to face Stephen.

"You fucking piece of shit. That was you at the club that night with George?"

Stephen seemed a little taken aback, but promptly regained his composure. George, on the other hand, seemed to crumble alongside with what little resolve he had left.

Clay watched George struggle with words with that helpless gaze for the second time that night. If his fists had been itching to knock that look off of Stephen's face before, all he wanted to do now was hold George in his arms.

Rose spoke behind him. "Clay this, Clay _that!_ You were a decent guy, not gonna lie, but I was getting pretty sick of you."

Her expression might not have faltered, but Clay was instantly able to recognize the obvious lie. It was a last ditch effort to stand above him in a power play, to come out on top as the victor instead of the defeated.

It was a tactic he'd never experienced firsthand. It seemed as if a malicious scheme had been hiding behind the affectionate façade she'd maintained during their short-lived relationship, as some sort of backup plan.

A quiet, almost inaudible voice sounded to his right. "Clay, let's go."

The bewilderment and the sudden revelations had really gotten to Clay. He just wanted to mess Stephen's face up a little to teach him a lesson, even if he had never been a confrontational person in his life.

A soft touch on his arm. "Please."

He looked down at George, pleading, looking as weak as the day he'd found him, then at the two standing around him with self satisfied smirks. They looked as if they relished in the emotional turmoil they had caused, taking a delight in the effect they'd had on George.

A tug on his arm to remind him of something. He felt his anger seep away as he turned around and walked straight back the way they'd come, across the road, with George.

He heard a relieved sigh as soon as he closed the apartment door behind them and a shuffling as George slumped against the wall and slid down to the floor.

"Hey..." Clay kneeled down next to him in the dark, wrapping him in a soft yet unyielding embrace. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

__________

George felt the cold tile under himself as he sat against the wall. The lack of lights made it difficult to be sure, so he slowly reached out with his hands to figure out where exactly Clay's face was.

He just wanted an escape - something to forget his past with. A wave that could wash away all the troubles etched into the sand on the shore, leaving behind a smooth surface instead.

If only there was a miracle pill to make you forget. He thought about how he'd gladly take a few to be able to start over, completely fresh. He figured a clean slate was all he needed to live.

But then... He'd be forgetting about Clay, too. The man who had been the only string he'd been hanging onto to stop himself from falling into an endless abyss. He felt guilty for being so dependent on one person, but it was true - if not for Clay, he would've spiraled into god knows what a few weeks ago.

So, he opted for another method to forget. A little trick he'd acquired when trying to forget his burning passion for his best friend. To lose himself in so many other feelings that the ones he'd been holding onto would slip from his grasp.

He pulled Clay down into a kiss. It felt off in all the wrong ways - there was no warmth bubbling up inside him, no excitement, nothing. Clay seemed to notice it as well, pulling away. 

"George, don't do that." The hurt in his voice was evident. "You're really not in the mood right now."

He was pulled off the floor and into the bedroom. Clay took great care in laying him down, making sure he was comfortable.

"I can't sleep right now, Clay." George stared up at the ceiling, overwhelmed with emotions. "Too... tired to sleep."

A soft chuckle from the side of the bed. "There's one thing I used to do as a kid that put me right to bed. Wanna try?"

"You?" George craned his neck up to face him. "You had coping methods as a child?"

Clay sat down on the empty spot next to George. "I had a lot of trouble sleeping. Anxiety issues."

For reasons unknown even to himself, he'd always envisioned Clay as a picture perfect child with no flaws. Even now, George was clueless as to how he had done such a poor job patching himself up after each breakdown, and how seamless Clay was.

His thoughts drifted off to the tattered doll he used to hide under his bed. Patches and clumsy needlework covering its body, hidden away, never to see the light of day. He shuddered, not too fond of the parallels his brain was subconsciously drawing.

But unlike from the raggedy doll, he had someone pulling him out from under the bed to bathe him in light. He would never be hidden away in his own shame as long as he had Clay by his side.

"So, basically..." A soft voice spoke above him. "I used to be obsessed with bees as a child. And I'm talking owned-every-book-about-it, constantly researching and chasing after them in my garden type of obsessed."

George imagined him as a child, burying his nose in a book about bees, staying up past bedtime secretly reading in his bed under a flashlight.

He turned around, lacing his fingers through Clay's. "Okay? What does that have to do with sleeping? Cause bees aren't very comforting to me right now, Clay."

"I'm getting there. So, as a kid, every night before bed..." He looked away, trying to stifle a laugh. "I would pretend to be a bee."

"What?! Clay-"

"Hear me out!" He lightly swatted at George, barely able to contain his laughter. "I would buzz for like, ten minutes until I passed out."

Both of them erupted into laughter. "Clay, I'm not doing that!" 

"Fine, your loss." He stood up, brushing himself off. "But it's a legitimate method!"

George watched as he patted his pockets to check for his phone and the apartment keys.

"Where are you going?"

Clay pulled out his phone, checking the time. "We passed a night market on the way home. I wanna check it out."

George, too exhausted to stand up but too alert to fall asleep, just hummed. He watched Clay leave the room and exit the apartment as the keys jingled in the lock.

After he was completely sure he was alone in his apartment, he decided to try Clay's method as a last ditch effort. Despite how ridiculous he felt, the tension in his body slowly melted away and soft slumber settled in.

_________

It was well into the afternoon when he woke up. After gracelessly stumbling out of bed and rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes, he shuffled into the kitchen.

Pleasant aromas were wafting through the kitchen. He assumed Clay had been making bread by the scent in the kitchen, the theory only reinforced by the sheer amount of flour covering his body.

Fresh produce was laid out on the counters, clean and appealing. George walked over, leaning on his hands over the cabinets.

Clay turned around to face him, wiping his hands on a washcloth nearby. He leaned over the same counter to meet him halfway in a soft kiss. "Morning."

George smiled against his lips, the sun streaming through the windows hitting their faces and dousing the room in a soft glow.

He pulled away, walking around the kitchen to hop onto one of the counters. He watched as skillful hands deftly mixed and matched ingredients, pulling them all together into a picture perfect meal.

A plate was held out to him, ingredients neatly arranged on top of it. He took a few bites, unable to contain his delight as a wide smile spread across his face.

Once he finished eating, the empty dish was taken from him. Clay stood in front of him with his arms crossed, leaning against a counter. An awfully familiar pose.

Before Clay even uttered the words, George knew. 

"We need to talk."

A groan escaped his lips. "Like anything good ever comes out of those words."

"George... Last night, Rose talked to me about... stuff. Your 'activities' in the first two months."

"Like..." George's mouth dried up, his chest suddenly tightening as if an invisible hand had reached up and wrapped its fingers around his heart, squeezing tight. "What kinda activities?"

"All of it." Clay refused to meet his eyes. "So what I'm wondering is, George..."

He watched as Clay pinched the fabric of his hoodie seemingly in an attempt to gather himself.

"Is it true?"


	24. Doubts

George blankly stared ahead, his gaze unyielding and cold. All traces of emotions had been wiped clear from his face, leaving him looking lifeless. 

Clay did his best not to break eye contact, becoming increasingly more unsettled by the second. Finally, he decided to say something to fill the silence.

"George." He looked down from George to the counter he was sitting on. If a moment ago he had been trying to keep his eyes on the man in front of him, now he was doing everything in his power to avert his glance from the icy stare.

A quiet hum as a response. George was motionless, unmoving. As if he'd forgotten how to form words. Slowly, hesitantly, he opened his mouth.

"Clay, I... You know... I mean-" He let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not even gonna deny it."

Clay watched George aimlessly fiddling with his own fingers, evidently uneasy. "So it's true?"

"Please don't make me say it out loud." He groaned and doubled over, burying his face in his hands. The words came out muffled through his fingers pressed tight against his mouth. "Yeah. It's true. And listen, Clay, I'm so sorry-"

Clay closed the distance between them in a few strides, wrapping his arms around George's tense shoulders, who froze up at first, but gradually melted into the touch. He stayed still though, enveloped in the one-sided embrace.

"George, I'm not judging, chill." He drew back in hopes to look at the face in front of him, but it was cast down, the eyes glued to the floor below. "And you're not even the only one."

Something changed in George's demeanor upon hearing those words. Clay couldn't place exactly what, but he felt a little relief when an arm snaked around his back. The eyes he'd been longing to see finally flitted up, now sweet and expressive compared to the former soulless ones.

They were asking a silent question, the inquiry hanging thick in the air, asking for reassurance. Clay nodded, brushing his knuckles over the man's cheek. "Really."

After a relieved chuckle, George buried his head back into Clay's chest. When he looked up, he had a solemn expression on his face.

"Clay... You met me at a very strange time in my life." After a moment, he added. "I mean, _met_ met me. Like, your timing for coming here couldn't be any more worse."

Clay couldn't help but smile at the playful jab. If jokes were what George needed to get his point across without violating his comfort zone, so be it.

"And I-" He dipped his head back down, unable to maintain eye contact. "I'm really thankful for you, Clay. Honestly. Thanks for... sticking with me."

Clay could tell this was a sensitive topic for George by the way he hesitantly pored over every word. He squeezed his hand to reassure him, placing a soft kiss on his forehead.

He placed his cheek on top of George's head. "Don't mention it. You mean a lot to me, George. I couldn't just leave you."

They stayed in each other's arms for a while relishing the comfort. When they finally parted, the atmosphere in the room was much lighter. It felt as if the colors in the kitchen were more vibrant and lively.

___________

Clay turned back to the ingredients laid out on the counter. He cleaned and prepped vegetables, tossing them onto a sizzling pan. George watched as he pulled a fresh baked loaf of bread out of the oven, laying it down onto a cloth.

The way Clay handled food - expertly, delicately - made George feel an unexplainable amount of things at once. He had less to leave up to imagination now that he'd experienced the flexibility of those hands firsthand, but that didn't stop him from craving more.

George didn't even realize how long he'd slipped off into a daydream for until the stove was turned off and a warm piece of bread was held out to him. Snapping out of his trance, he took it, savoring the aromas before taking a bite of the soft texture.

Amazing, as everything else Clay had made for him up until now. He tried to give a few words of affirmation through the mouthful, but the laugh he got in response let him know his words had been an indescernible muffled mess.

He took his time eating the slice, watching Clay set a pot of water on the fire instead, dousing the fried vegetables with sauces and spices. He swung his legs, occasionally hitting the cabinet below him with a dull thud.

He put the last bite in his mouth, shaking the crumbs off. "How was the night market?"

"Pretty fun." Clay poured handfuls of rice in the boiling water, sprinkling in some salt. "It's gonna be set up tonight, too. Wanna go?"

George already knew the answer, but he hummed a little before giving it not to seem too desperate. He was desperate, though. He clung onto every second they got together like a lifeline.

"Sure." He shrugged, hopping off the counter. "What time?"

The earthy, tangy scent of the seasoned vegetables hit his nose. He plucked a piece out of the pan, immediately delighted at how the immense flavor overwhelmed his taste buds. Clay watched him savor the food with a pleased smile on his face.

"It's about 3PM right now, you kinda slept in." George rolled his eyes at the obvious statement. "It opens up at 7."

They had plenty of time to spare. George had a few ideas for things they could do to pass the time, but he didn't say a word. 

It wasn't like he should've been nervous - they were well past the first date jitters stage, although they'd never even had a first date.

Everything about the situation had been weird - George felt like they'd known each other for a lifetime, even if they'd met up only a week or two ago. Still, the way they acted so casually around each other, the comfort was evident.

George wondered what they'd be doing a few years from now. Would they still be around each other? They still hadn't had 'the talk', despite both of them confessing their feelings and sleeping together.

As much as he wanted things to be official and serious, he couldn't help but feel scared of the realness of it all - sure, Clay was the man of his dreams, but the idea of commitment made his skin crawl.

He cursed his childhood for making things so hard for him. The troubles and insecurities he used to face as a kid still persisted today, not letting him rest.

It wasn't even that he wanted anyone else - he forgot about the existence of the outside world whenever he was with Clay. So why couldn't he just be happy and fulfilled that the subject of his torturous yearning wanted him back?

He gave a quick smile when their eyes met, completely masking the inner doubt rising up inside him. He felt like a horrible person for even thinking these things, but he couldn't help it. The worries had burrowed deep inside his head.

They didn't go away at dinnertime, either. They nagged at him, telling him to just pack up and run, flee as far away as he could, to protect himself from potential heartbreak.

Clay wouldn't do anything to hurt him, right? He repeated the question over and over in his head, riding on the train of thought until he felt like he was going to implode on himself.


	25. Memory Lane

After checking his phone every second while anxiously waiting for the time of their departure, it finally came.

He desperately hoped taking a walk through the night market would distract him enough not to think about how terrible and ungrateful he was, since nothing on television or social media seemed to do the trick.

George jumped up from the couch at 7PM sharp, startling Clay. He just brushed it off as being excited to explore a new part of town, but Clay could obviously see how he nervously chewed the inside of his cheek.

The concern was evident on his friend's face - the eyes he loved so much were creased in worry. He loathed the fact that he was the reason for that expression, but that feeling was hidden away behind a thousand others, brewing and bubbling and foaming inside of his head into a wicked cocktail of shame and fear.

George went to the bathroom to freshen up, but found himself staring in the mirror instead. He knew who the reflection staring back at him should've been, but it was unrecognizable. 

He slowly pulled up a finger to touch the cold surface. He looked fine, in fact, he was better than he'd been in a long while. But every time the stranger staring back at him from the glass moved with him, he couldn't help but be puzzled.

It was only when George heard Clay stand up and dig into his suitcase that he snapped out of it, picking up his toothbrush.

He ran a hand through his bedhead that he'd neglected to tidy up since he'd woken up. His skin looked sickly in the white lighting in the bathroom. Or maybe he really was horribly pale.

He heard a voice calling out from the living room. "You gonna be done soon? I'm ready!"

George just stared at the fingers on the mirror until his vision turned into blots, twisting and morphing into an entirely different scene.

Suddenly, he was sitting on the stairs of his childhood home with a cloth doll in his grip, peering down at the hallway through the gaps in the wooden railing. 

The stairs under him felt cold and unwelcoming, just like everything else in the house. The dull carpets and generic paintings did little to help the homely feel - every time he'd leave his room, it felt as if he was in an entirely different place.

A few coins were waiting upstairs in his piggy bank as an extremely hopeful investment for a big house he'd get someday. Not a moment would pass without him thinking of a beach side condo, or a mansion out of town, or a fancy apartment in the heart of the city.

Mom and dad were fussing downstairs, getting ready to go to a big event. George hadn't actually asked what it was, since he didn't care, and he could barely restrain himself from jumping up and down with excitement.

Having the whole house to himself wasn't a common occurrence, but he cherished every little moment of it. No screaming, yelling, crying. And best of all, no hiding behind various pieces of furniture whenever he heard his dad approaching.

Even now, a rising voice could be heard - it was a common occurrence that he'd gotten used to. Whether it was the house being messy or something completely out of George's control such as the mailman being late, he was always the one the frustration was taken out on.

His mom darted out into the hall, with a furious hand pulling her hair. The white walls of the hall turned hot red and she screamed out in pain as a fist collided with her face.

Everything grew to ten times it's size, or maybe George shrunk down into a crumb, but he stayed completely still, fear paralyzing his body. He wanted to help, to shout and dart down the stairs and make everything better, but this was just a memory. 

That thought didn't help with the utter hopelessness he felt. He was weak, useless. Just like his mom used to tell him after she had been particularly upset.

Specks of red and white flared out in every direction as another ruthless fist collided with her face with a dull crack. The blood coming from her nose was dripping down the walls, the ceiling, and coating everything in sight.

George looked down to see his palms covered in red. Own knuckles stained in blood, as if he was the one to blame for his mom's torment. He would be convinced he was, later, when they came back home and it was time for his bedtime story.

Instead of princes and princesses going on adventures, what he'd get would be an awful tale of him being the reason why their marriage was in shambles. 

His fingers slipped down the mirror, leaving a smudge. He shook his head in an attempt to chase the memories away, and stepped out into the living room to see Clay waiting for him.

He looked up, flashing him a heartwarming smile. "Ready to go?"

George gathered up all the composure he had in his fragile body to steady his voice. "Yeah. Let's go."

Despite his efforts, it came out a little shaky, but Clay seemed to disregard it as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders and unlocked the apartment door to step outside in front of the stairs.

Something as simple as a step down the stairs took tremendous effort from George. His hand trailed along the railing just in case he needed to catch himself, fingers gliding over the smooth surface.

Cool night air hit his face as soon as they stepped outside. He relished the pleasant feeling as they walked side by side under streetlights, an occasional car driving by once in a while. It was quiet save for the muffled calm chatter of the passerbys. 

Without thinking, he reached out to brush Clay's hand with his knuckles in a silent invitation, which was immediately accepted as he was pulled close and their fingers threaded between each other.

Two boys passed them, trying to look so inconspicuous that they were doing the opposite of averting gazes. George could see right through the unsuspecting innocent eyes and the hands shoved deep into their pockets as they ducked into an alley.

He was no expert, but he knew kids who had sneaked out to smoke when he saw them. He'd been one of them once, excitedly bounding after Stephen, carrying scavenged goods consisting of his dad's cheap cigars he'd stolen from his stash.

He'd gotten sick of all the constant nagging one night, and decided to crack open his second floor bedroom window to sneak out after his mom had finished going off on her usual tangents. 

As soon as the door shut in front of him, he slowly slide out of the covers, cursing his creaking bedframe. He slung one leg over the windowsill, quickly following it up with the second.

It was only when he was dangling from four meters up when he thought this hadn't been a particularly bright idea. Despite that, he had no other way to go but down, so he landed in the bush below the window with a crack of a few branches and maybe his foot.

He'd refined and mastered his bush-landing technique over the years, but the first time had always been memorable, since it was the night he'd met Stephen.

The details were blurry, but by the time the bus terminal clock showed it was 2 AM, he'd made a new friend.

It felt new and fresh, and the fact that he had a second life unknown to his parents was exhilarating. He got a high every time he snuck out and back in without being detected by anyone, so he kept doing it.

There'd been ups and downs throughout the years of knowing Stephen. He'd been let down countless times, but ended up always forgiving his friend for the way he made George feel.

It was unexplainable - his stomach would flutter and he'd become lightheaded every time he was around Stephen. Now he knew what it was - a distasteful crush, but back then he was drawn to the unfamiliar feeling like a moth to a flame. Or rather, an ant to clumps of sugar coated in poison.

It was because of this feeling that he'd failed to see how different he was becoming. Being around such an influence took a heavy toll on his mental and physical health. By the time he was 17, he had serious lung problems from chain smoking every night and constantly listening to nagging, as if being a personal therapist for his mom hadn't been enough.

Stephen used to tell him all sorts of things - how he felt like he was a failure, how he was failing school and how everyone favored his little sister over him, which he now realized was Rose.

Despite the treatment he'd been getting, he was completely on board when a romantic relationship blossomed between them. That's probably why it struck him like a hail of bullets when Stephen one day announced that he was moving away to a new town, completely out of the blue.

After desperately trying to keep in touch over text for months, he got a train to visit him in the new town, going through a four hour trip just to be dumped at the nearest diner and have to soak in his shame all the way back.

The years after that had been a blur - just a bunch of him saving up to move out, starting a YouTube channel somewhere down the line, and meeting Clay.

The warm fingers drew back from his grasp, snapping him out of his train of thought.

"You alright?" The soft voice next to him radiated warmth, making him bubble and smile from the sheer happiness he felt whenever he heard it. "You seem kinda... off."

George looked around to see they'd arrived at some sort of outdoors flea market, stalls trailing as far as eyes could reach. There were people casually milling about, occasionally stopping at stalls and passing money to the vendors.

He smiled, looking at Clay. "I'm fine."

The fragments of his past he'd been recollecting on the way here had been troubling him, but he wasn't about to let that get in the way of him spending some quality time with Clay.

He weaved an arm through his, soaking in the warmth of the touch against the night breeze.


	26. Night Market

They walked along the cobbled path of the night market, wind chimes hung up on the wooden roofing of the stalls dangling with every passing breeze. 

George looked over to see Clay glancing at various wares and products laid out on the counters. He looked content, like he knew exactly what was going on and what he was supposed to do - the polar opposite of George. He wondered if Clay knew what was going on inside his head at the moment, or if his lie had successfully masked his true feelings.

A decent sized crowd of people were gathered around a stall lit up in flashing fairy lights, cheering at something. Upon closer inspection, George discovered it was a classic arcade shooting game with its own spin on it.

Clay seemed to notice the curiosity light up George's eyes, since he walked them over to the shooting range. 

Ridiculously large cowboy hats adorned in swirly colorful patterns lined the wall behind the vendor. The game itself looked pretty simple, with a handful of targets and a plastic toy gun.

"Oh, I could _totally_ get you one of those." Clay tore his eyes from the display to look over at George. "My dad used to have one of those in his garage, I'm basically a pro at it."

A particularly obnoxious hat caught George's eye, with little shapes embroidered on it in colorful string. The flaps were huge, and were most definitely not made for practical use.

"Hell yeah, I want one of those!" George was genuinely excited for the first time that night. 

He would've gone for the traditional prize of huge bears that they give out at the arcades, but he deemed the hats to be a more memorable item. They seemed handmade, which made them way more valuable and George - a little skeptical of the owner's ability to give them out for winning a seemingly simple shooting game.

Once it was Clay's turn in the queue, he examined the gun held out to him by the vendor carefully, testing the weight in his hands. 

George watched him hoist it over his shoulder in a fluid movement and immediately wipe a target out. It seemed that he'd really had a lot of practice in his childhood, and his muscle memory wasn't failing him.

Another target down, then another. The spectators watched in awe, with a whistle or a cheer every time he scored. 

It would've been intimidating to George - how his fingers deftly moved across the trigger and aimed so accurately with unfiltered focus in his eyes, if it wasn't so hot. Tempting, but to do what, he wasn't exactly sure yet.

Once all the targets were down, the hat was passed out to them as a cheer erupted from the crowd. The hat was even bigger up close, the shiny colorful embroidery glistening under the fairy lights.

Clay immediately placed it on top of George's head with a delighted smile. "It's cute. You're like a little yeehaw version of Georgie"

"This is so bizzarre. Who gives out _hats_ at a shooting range, anyway?"

"I mean, it's not like it's a regular festival or something." He smiled, adjusting the flaps. "Everything here is handmade and organic. It makes sense."

George held out a hand, which Clay immediately accepted, wrapping his fingers around it. The warm touch sent electricity prickling down his skin as always - no matter how many times they'd held hands, George still felt touch starved and longed for more.

They moved onto the next stall that caught their eye selling fresh produce. Various grains were bundled up in colorful cloths, cakes and loaves were laid out in woven baskets and strings of dried up fruit were hanging from the roof.

The vendor turned his attention to them, flashing a polite smile. "What can I help you with, gentlemen?"

George kept poring over the delicate cakes while Clay talked to the man. "I'll take a bag of those kernels and a loaf."

A few handfuls of bright orange popcorn kernels were stuffed into a paper bag alongside with a soft loaf of bread gently wrapped in cloth. Clay paid for the goods, thanking the vendor and turning to thread his fingers back between George's.

The warm golden glow from the lamps and string lights were dancing across Clay's face, his eyes glinting with something else besides the reflection of the shining market.

George tore his eyes from him to observe the bustle of the part of the city's night life that he'd never experienced. Sure, he might have been a veteran in the other branches of nightly activities, but something as innocent and peaceful as a walk through some stalls hand in hand with Clay did wonders for his mentality.

He'd forgotten all about the memories plaguing his thoughts up until now. However, recalling them now, when he felt the warmth of fingers gently wrapped around his, he was invincible to the troubles. He squeezed a little tighter momentarily, running his thumb over the length of Clay's hand with a contented sigh.

He allowed himself to lose train of thought as they walked along the cobbled path, soaking up the sights. It was only when Clay stopped at another stall that George realized they'd been walking for quite some time - the sky was pitch black now, with an occasional twinkling star here and there.

Upon picking up a variety of fruits in a netted bag, they resumed walking. George wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but as time passed, he could swear Clay inched closer. Their shoulders brushed against each other every once in a while, but neither of them acknowledged it in fear it'd become awkward.

It was strange to George, how they were still acting like they were at the first date stage even after having sex. Not to mention, a lot of feelings and chemistry leading up to that point.

The newness felt exciting, but there were times when George just wished to be held in bed in the mornings, hang out in the living room watching movies, and repeat what they did when they came home from the airport. 

He didn't know how to initiate that conversation, but the spark was definitely there. He could see it in the way Clay touched him and looked at him with seemingly unassuming eyes. The passion burning behind the cover was obvious, no matter how big the attempt to hide it was.

Even now, as Clay turned his head to peer at George, there was something in there besides just a simple look. Difficult to pinpoint exactly what, but George just _knew._

He just had to test the theory.


	27. Reassurance

The only thing he could think about was how to find out the answer to his question. His mind kept circling back to it, no matter how much he tried to distract himself, running laps around the irritating feeling of just _not knowing_ what Clay felt.

The calm night did little to clear his thoughts on the way home. Curious questions and nagging insecurities nestled deep into his brain didn't ease off even as he watched Clay pour out the bag of kernels onto a buttered pan in the apartment.

"So... Uh." George wasn't too sure how to approach the subject. Talking about seemed like the healthy way to go forward, so he figured he'd spit it out before his insecurities got the best of him. "Clay, what exactly do you feel for me?"

He watched the movements momentarily stop, although resuming pace shortly after. As much as Clay tried to hide it on his face, his hands gave away his sudden anxiety by the way they stiffened a little.

Slowly, he lowered the pan and turned his head to look George in the eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what you heard, Clay."

The answer came hastily, the eagerness to finally know the truth showing through the cracks of the faltering casualness. The hesitation worried George a little, but the practice of keeping his emotions under wraps his whole life was coming in handy.

He had to find a way to drain out the stress building up inside of him, though. He'd just drawn the inside of his cheek between his teeth when he abruptly stopped. Clay knew about the nervous habit, and would realize George was fidgeting if he saw.

"George, you know you mean a lot to me." Just as the uncertainty in Clay's voice had appeared, it had faded right back out. This time, he turned his whole body in George's direction, properly facing him. "Why the sudden question?"

Neither of them knew the answer to that. Not even George, who had prompted this whole conversation.

"I mean..." Unable to find any other activity to focus on, he took to picking at a small scratch on the counter. "Is that it? I just mean a lot?"

Clay took a few steps to close the distance between them, holding up George's head by cupping either side of his face to make eye contact. The bare gaze would be too intense for George to keep up with, but he really had no choice. He had initiated the conversation, and he'd set his mind on finally picking up the loose pieces and getting closure.

"George, I know somehing's bothering you." The anxiety and tension between them slowly started to fade away as Clay gently traced little lines on George's skin with his finger. "You can talk to me about it."

George let out a long involuntary sigh. He was secretly relieved deep down, though, having his first brush with what a healthy relationship looked like. An alien concept to him, but something he strived for with every atom in his body.

He placed his hands on top of Clay's, finally regaining the strength to straighten up and give him a genuine look. "I just... I guess I just need reassurance once in a while. Forget about it."

The line he'd used in all his relationships. The easy way out - to forget and walk away and never mention it again. It was what he was used to, denying and denying all his issues until they'd piled up into a huge unpleasant heap, towering over him and blocking out the sun, bathing him in permanent shade.

But Clay was different. He'd never walked away, or forgotten, or pretended their problems were nonexistent. And now wasn't any different. Instead, he pressed a soft kiss to George's forehead. It was sweet, gentle, caring. Everything that was needed at the moment.

"Let's not forget it, actually. George, if reassurance is what you need..." Clay's comforting words were the only thing filling the silence in the room. The quiet meant that there were no distractions, leaving only the conversation to focus on. George wasn't sure if he was into the idea too much, but he'd have to try. For Clay. "Then reassurance is what you'll get. George, you've made me the happiest I've ever been in years. So when I tell you you mean a lot to me, I'm telling the truth."

George looked up at the man holding him with nothing short of awe and admiration in his gaze. The words that he had encountered countless times in movies and what little books he had read, being spoken to him. Touching the person that meant the most to him. Genuine, heartfelt words being spoken to him.

"You're just... You're so _amazing,_ George. And if telling you that every day is what it takes, so be it." Clay's eyes danced from George's eyes down to his nose, then his lips. "I don't want to lose you."

George wasn't sure whether it was the genuine words of affection being spoken to him or being so overwhelmed with emotions he couldn't speak, but he tugged the man in front of him into a soft kiss.

It was gentle, innocent. Everything that he couldn't put into words, conveyed through a kiss. Filled to the brim with feelings of passion and neverending yearning, the sparks he used to get from the first touches back when they'd first met never having fizzled out, only growing stronger.

George wasn't sure how long it had been when Clay drew back for some air, but his head was clouded and swirling, intoxicated with the sweet touch.

They let the moment linger for a while, disentangling after it had passed. 

Clay turned back to the pan he'd been holding before the conversation, turning up the heat on the stove. "I'm really glad you talked to me about this."

George watched him quickly cover it with a lid as soon as the first kernel popped, occasionally shaking them around above the fire in order to keep them from burning.

After a few minutes, the popping sounds had died down, so Clay dumped the pan upside down into a bowl. 

George grabbed a handful, almost immediately throwing the popcorn back as the freshly popped kernels burnt his hand.

Clay just seemed amused at George's misfortune, looking at him with nothing short of admiration in his eyes. It was bizzarre, George thought, how he was capable of making someone feel the way he felt about them. How just a little random act had made them look at him like a child stares a new toy in a glass display at the store. Admiration, curiosity, wanting.

The prickly insecurity had been completely washed out by a new, pleasant warmth bubbling up inside him, fluttering and jumping at every little touch they shared. It didn't go away as they settled into the couch to watch a movie, and throughout it.

George felt invincible - he'd finally found someone that _understood._ Someone who'd dug up the roots of the problem they were facing and ripped it apart. And at that moment, he promised himself he'd do the same if Clay ever needed him by his side.


	28. Development

It had been weeks since George had had his last doubts about what could come of the relationship with Clay.

He'd been too quick to judge, he'd realized, after noticing how they got even closer with every passing day. The former friendship was blossoming into something beautiful and promising.

Besides joy, the biggest thing he felt was relief. Clay had been the missing piece swept under the rug that just clicked into place and completed the unfinished puzzle. 

George made sure to tell Clay about it several times, but every time he got the same answer - that he'd been a whole person even before they had met. He just hadn't been able to see it.

It was true, though, no matter how sappy it sounded even in his head. If it weren't for Clay suddenly stepping into his personal life and flipping it upside down, who knows where he'd be. Somewhere in a ditch, probably, having succumbed to his own self destructive habits.

Despite how well things were going, neither of them had been mentioning _the thing._ The icky topic George always shied away from in every single relationship - the status.

It wasn't entirely necessary, since for the first time in eternity, George was able to take things at a comfortably and steady pace. Plus, he'd known people stuck in the talking stage for far longer than it'd taken them to reach this point.

He'd been slowly getting back to his channel after having abandoned it for so long. He'd have been feeling guilty, if not for the promise made to Clay.

They'd come to an agreement while discussing George's career - he'd only resume once at a stable mental state. Now that he was making progress, he didn't want to throw it all away over work.

They'd chalked George's disappearance up to "personal issues", deciding to keep it vague rather than go into detail. After all, airing out dirty laundry on the internet would not be the best decision for everyone, George thought.

Clay had mentioned he'd been uploading pre-recorded videos, lifting another weight off George's shoulders. Sure, he could handle jeopardizing his own affairs over his lack of control over life, but he wasn't too sure he'd be able to cope with messing with Clay's job.

George was swinging his feet around, sitting in his usual spot on top of the counter. He'd picked up a few nifty skills after watching Clay and despite him vowing to never reveal his secret, binging on cooking tutorials whenever he had the spare time.

It was worth seeing the surprised raise of Clay's eyebrows, or the pleased smile. Though the way his hands guides George's when he wasn't too sure about something was pleasant, though. 

Cooking had turned from a disastrous, mostly impossible chore to a relaxing pastime. Sure, his hands may have lacked the skill and finesse of a chef, but he had fun contributing to the prep of the meals. And being around Clay, of course.

Even now, he had busied himself by cutting up the tomatoes to side with the paprika chicken they were making. There was a clear improvement in the technique - the sloppy, uneven slices he had cut in the beginning of his learning experience had formed into almost perfect, symmetrical pieces.

He must have looked pretty satisfied, since Clay glanced at him then down to the curing board with an amused smirk on his face. "You did really well. Good job."

It was the little things that made George's face heat up and stomach flutter, and this was no exception. It was a small feat - just a bunch of pretty tomato slices, but he'd have been lying if he'd said pride wasn't welling up in his chest.

The rest of the preparation went by in comfortable silence, with muffled sizzles and savory smells filling the air.

All George could feel while eating was bubbling excitement with hints of nervousness here and there. He'd scheduled a stream the day before, to get back into the current of things.

There was the ever present fear of being out of touch after spending so much time away from his area of expertise, but having Clay by his side made things he was unsure about easier to cope with, as always.

After cleaning up, he got to work straight away. The stream had been set up after a few moments, and viewers were slowly starting to trickle in.

Clay sat beside him in silence, just outside of the camera view. It was slow and awkward at first, but as time went on, his comments picked up pace and he eased into the stream.

Reading the donation messages that occasionally popped up on his screen had always brought him joy, the present being no exception.

"I missed you George :( where have you been?"

Short and wholesome. He gave a small smile while he tried to search for words to explain.

"I've been doing... stuff. Sorry. But uploads and streams are gonna be more frequent now. Thank you for the donation..." His eyes flitted up to search for the name of the person. Before he could process what he was saying, it was out. "Rose."

His mouth dried up. He thought it was ridiculous, how a simple name could cause him so much frustration.

It seemed his emotions had been mirrored on the face he could see out of the corner of his eye. Nevertheless, no words were said, but they were both thinking the same thing.

Had it been _the_ Rose?

Ridiculous. The chances of her finding their channels, catching a stream and then donating with a two-faced nice message were next to zero.

Still, that thought did little to calm George's jittery nerves. Clay's reassuring gaze, though, encouraged him to keep going and finish the stream.

Time went by relatively fast after they'd more or less forgotten about it. George felt stupid for getting irritated, but deep down he knew it wasn't a thing that would just go away.

The name in Clay's contacts with a little heart icon next to it - that had been long deleted, of course, - the voice coated thick in sweet tones to coo at the man of his dreams, the schemes she had set up as petty revenge.

The memories weren't about to just pop out of existence at a snap of his fingers. Neither were his childhood traumas, and issues, and countless other things that had been bothering him up until this point. 

Because even though Clay helped soothe the discomfort, it was still there. And he didn't want to use him as a stilt to prop him up whenever he felt down. Clay was much more to him than that, and George wouldn't be caught dead using him as a coping mechanism anymore.

He'd been looking into therapy, figuring it was long overdue. Not only looking, but attending the sessions. The progress was slow, often difficult to spot. It was disheartening, but realistic.

And in the long run, it would tremendously pay off. Not to mention, it made Clay incredibly happy to see George cope at least a little better.

The rest of the day passed in a flash, filled with pleasant conversations and pastimes. Not a day had gone by with George feeling bored since Clay had entered his life. 

The ongoing events and his own thoughts had been enough to keep his busy at all times, but he was ready for peace and quiet. 

At night, when the lights outside had dimmed and the noises had died down, George lay awake listening to the steady rise and fall of Clay's chest. He nestled into the arm wrapped around his shoulders, replaying the events of the day.

He wondered what he'd feel in the event of finding out it had been the real Rose. Would it have really affected him?

They'd overcome a ridiculous amount of hurdles to reach the point they were at, and he wouldn't have been willing to throw it all away over an unpleasant experience with an... unfortunate encounter.

Plus, he was invincible with Clay by his side. Hell, Rose could have arrived at that point and started kicking down the door and screaming, and George would've dealt with it and gone back to sleep unbothered next to _his_ Clay.

He'd won the battle, per se, and he wasn't planning on backing down. Because there'd be moments of hardship, but it'd be drowned out by loving words and the spark that would never fizzle out.

The warmth encompassing him lulled him to sleep, promising a good night's rest and filling him with the hopes of even better days to come.


	29. Cheers

-TIME SKIP-

  
George had really started to come out of his shell, glowing more and more with confidence as months went by. He'd finally found his safe space in Clay's arms, the warm touches and soft kisses turning into the home he'd never had.

A haven, where he could take refuge from all the troubles of the outside world and just... forget for a while, if things got too overwhelming.

Therapy also helped, although there were days when he'd revert to the problematic habits and have trouble rolling out of bed. Clay never left his side in the healing process, standing by his side every step of the way.

The sparks had never disappeared, after months upon months of living together. It still felt like a new relationship - all the excitement and butterflies, although without the stress and insecurities.

The late summer had faded to a warm glowing fall, which in turn had its place taken by an early winter. Somewhere along the way, they'd fully committed to making their relationship an official one, and standing strong against the issues that had failed to rip holes in it.

George was laying in bed with his legs slung over Clay's. They were both on their phones, basking in each other's silent company.

"So I was thinking..." Clay crossed his arms across his chest. "Since I'm leaving in a week and all-"

"Ugh, don't remind me." George took his boyfriend's face in his hands, leaning over to place a quick peck on his lips. "Long distance is gonna suck."

Sunlight was streaming through the raised blinds despite the cold winter morning. The windows had been open much more often during Clay's stay, and both of them were thankful for it. The room definitely needed more life to brighten up the gray interior.

The whole apartment had been furnished after sleepless nights spent assembling furniture and eating junk food - just a one time thing, Clay had assured, and he was right. George was yet to revert to his unhealthy eating habits.

"Well actually..." Clay grabbed him, pulling him down for another kiss. "We've been living together for what, five, six months?"

George nodded. "Yeah, what about it?"

"Well, I know this is a pretty weird thing to suggest, and I normally wouldn't do this, but it seems to be a pretty good decision, so bear with me here-"

"Spit it out, Clay." George couldn't help but smile at how Clay stretched out the time when he was nervous. "Come on."

George rolled over on his side, leaning on his elbow. He watched as the man next to him looked for the proper words. "I dunno, wanna move in together or something?" 

Silence. Clay let the question hang in the air a little. "I know it might be weird but-"

"Are you kidding?" George excitedly sat up. "Hell _yes_ I wanna move in!"

He threaded his fingers through Clay's. It was a form of endearment he'd picked up a couple of months into the relationship.

Neither of them could hide their giddiness. however, a clouded expression soon passed over Clay's face.

"Not to ruin the moment, but..." He furrowed his brows. "I'm not even sure how to get UK citizenship."

"I dunno, couldn't we like, get married or something?" George asked in a playful tone, but was only half joking.

Clay pulled up his phone. "It says here that..." He started after scrolling through something. "Huh. 'To apply as the spouse or civil partner of a British citizen you must have lived in the UK for the last 3 years.' So that's out of the picture."

George laid back down, clutching one of Clay's arms. "Bummer."

He felt a hand caress his cheek as it slid up to run through his hair. He relished the feeling with a smile, closing his eyes.

"What if, though, and just hear me out." George felt his boyfriend turn over to face him. "You moved in with me?"

He bit the inside of his cheek. "I dunno, Clay..."

"Think about it. The regulations are way less strict." He held a strand of George's hair in between his fingers. "And I have a pretty nice apartment."

"It's not like I'm leaving much of a family behind." There seemed to be years of hurt behind those words, and Clay decided not to delve deep into a painful topic in case it ruined the moment. "Sure, why not?"

With that, George leaned down for a final kiss and rolled out of bed. He put on a fresh change of clothes, stretching the sleepiness out of himself.

"My lease is up in three weeks, actually." He added. "Nice timing."

__________

The plan was set. It'd been out of the blue. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. George felt giddy with excitement at the thought that he'd get to spend his days living with Clay, although the idea of moving to a new country felt... well, new.

But if there was a thing he'd experienced during the last months, it'd been change. Heaps upon heaps of it. It seemed that this was the way to go forward.

He kept that same outlook three weeks after, while running through the airport building at 4 AM with a suitcase containing what little things he had on hand and a hand weaved through Clay's.

And he still felt the happiness warm his body while sitting at a table with a home cooked supper, dim lights illuminating the room in the evening.

George let Clay fill their glasses up and threaded his fingers through his in the manner he'd come to love so much.

He watched the man across from him lift up the glass. "Cheers to moving in together."

Sometimes, it's alright to leave a fairytale unfinished, without the prince and the princess getting married and settling down in one place. It's fine to live in the moment and pause and pick up pace whenever it feels suitable, and George knew that.

And he also knew they had a hell of an adventure in their books, as long as they searched for it. 

For now, he clutched Clay's hand with a hopeful smile and clinked their glasses together.

"Cheers. To this new experience, and many more to come."

_________

 _The End_.


End file.
